


United We Stand

by LadyTargaryen1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jon Snow, Dragons, F/M, Jon Snow and Robb Stark are Best Friends, King Rhaegar Targaryen, Minor Catelyn Tully Stark/Ned Stark, POV Arya Stark, POV Catelyn Tully Stark, POV Jon Snow, POV Myrcella Baratheon, POV Sandor Clegane, Protective Sandor Clegane, Robert's Rebellion Fails | Rhaegar Targaryen Wins, Warg Starks (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTargaryen1/pseuds/LadyTargaryen1
Summary: Myrcella Connington, only daughter of Jon Connington has been told since birth that she would marry the prince of dragonstone. But when the same fate as the mother befalls the daughter, Myrcella chooses a different path.
Relationships: Myrcella Baratheon/Jon Snow
Comments: 101
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

** THE BASTARD - WINTERFELL **

The crows circled around the broken tower, spreading their dark wings before nestling inside the ruined pillar. _If only I were a crow,_ Jon thought. _I would spread my wings and fly high into the sky, until the cold air seized my longs and Winterfell looks smaller than a fly’s wings._

But where would he go? There was no safe haven for bastards, even royal ones.

“Lord Jon,” he turned at the call of his name. _They mock me with a lords title, but what am I lord of really?_

Before him was Jory Cassel, captain of the guards. “His lordship wishes to see you.” He stated. Jon nodded.

“Show me the way, Ser.”

The travelled through Winterfell’s courtyard, past the first keep where its stone gargoyles stared down at him with unforgiving eyes.

Soon enough, they were inside the great keep and at the door of his uncle’s solar. Ser Jory knocked to announced his coming.

“Lord Jon, Lord Stark.”

“Let him in.”

The two guards outside the door turned and opened the double oak-and-iron doors that led into his uncles personal chambers. Jon stepped in quickly, and grated his teeth as the old doors creaked closed behind him.

“Lord Stark.” His uncle frowned.

“Jon. I told you—”

“Not to call you my your title in public, I know. It’s habit, is all.” His uncle nodded and gestured towards the seat that was separated by a long dark wood table.

After he was seated, the conversation began.

“A rider arrived from Torrhen’s Square. Ser Helman received a raven from king’s landing.” Jon’s breath hitched. There was only two reasons why a raven from king’s landing would be sent to the north.

“Is it Uncle Benjen? Has something happened?” His uncle calmed him with a hand.

“Benjen is fine. The raven is from him in fact. The king is coming to Winterfell, Jon.”

His face screwed up angrily. _Why? Why would that man come up here? Why does he want trouble?_

“For what reason?” He demanded.

“To see his son.”

Jon’s mouth was agape.

“He comes to see me?” Ned Stark nodded.

“That’s what this letter says. It appears your brother Aegon will be with him, it wants to see his future realm, Benjen writes.” Jon tried to remember his brother. _He was a boy when we last saw each other. Arrogant and full of himself as any prince would be._

“I understand this is very overwhelming for you to hear, you have my leave.” Jon thanked his uncle and quickly left the solar, heading for the Godswood.

**CATELYN - WINTERFELL**

“What reason could he possibly have to see him now? He was never concerned about the boy before.”

Catelyn had raged when she heard of the news. _He comes into my home, for what? To bring more misery and grief?_

Rhaegar Targaryen. The name still sounded like venom after all these years. She remembered how he looked on his war horse, tall and handsome as he forced her father and uncle to bend the knee. How he took everything they owned and passed it around to his lickspittle lords.

“He doesn’t need reason, he’s the king.” She frowned.

“Why can’t these bloody royals leave us be? Haven’t we suffered enough at their hands?” Ned stood and shushed her, holding her tightly in his arms.

“Now, now Cat. It’s not so bad. The king will visit Jon, we’ll have a hunt, and soon he’ll be on his way.” Catelyn frowned.

“But what of his wife? The Martell woman? It was her who convinced her husband to strip my father from all his rank and titles.”

Ned just sighed. “The letter said nothing of the Queen, but we must assume she’ll be coming along too. _You_ however, must be courteous and kindly with her grace.”

“Do you take me for a fool? I’ve already had one family condemned to live as beggars and hostages, I won’t do the same for another.”

She remembered Edmure, whose hair was fiery red just like her own. She remembered how the tears flowed down his deep blue eyes. _He will be a man grown now, and I haven’t seen him since he was a boy._

The king refused to even allow her letters.

“I don’t take you for a fool, but we both know how you are when roused.” Catelyn smiled besides herself.

“Well, they’ll just have to not rouse me then.” And with that she took her leave. _I must go to the Sept, I need to pray. . ._

It was not comparable to the sept of Riverrun, which was tall and magnificent with glass windows stained with the rainbow colors of the seven, but Catelyn liked that. It was simple and to the point, like many things in the north.

She knelt in front of the altar of the Crone, pale hands wrapped tightly around her seven-sided star rosary, and prayed.

_Crone give me wisdom, guide me through the darkness, give me the strength to see my enemies._

The Gods didn’t respond. They never did, but they would give her a sign, that much was true. _Answer my prayers, fair lady. I am lost, I am your humble servant, I beg you._

After she had taken her leave, she left the sept only to here the shocked sighs of servants. They were pointing and whispering to each other.

When she looked up she saw a shooting star. Blood red with a long tail that seemed to cover half the sky. Catleyn looked at the sept and clutched her rosary.

_My sign has come._

**MYRCELLA - KING’S LANDING**

Chaos. That was the best way to describe the Red Keep.

Servants had been rising about, bumping into each other as they ran various errands for their betters. Myrcella could scare walk the gardens because they were filled with people doing one task or another.

Her father was the busiest of all and as Hand of the King he would be responsible for coordinating the royal party along with the master of travels.

Lord Jon Connington, Duke of Storm’s End Lord Paramount of Stormlands and Hand of the King rarely had such time for _frivolous_ things like family, Myrcella thought bitterly. _No, his precious king needs all his attention, and his love._

Her father loved the king more than he loved his own wife. Instead of spending time in her company, he fled to Rhaegar and courted him instead.

_He never loved any of us. Not me nor Joffrey nor Tommen._

Most men would be content with two sons and a dazzling daughter, but her father shipped her eldest brother over to Randyll Tarly over some foolish business with a cat!

All she had was mother and Tommen. And Tommen was just a boy.

_A lonely lion is a terrible thing._

She remembered when she was girl, she’d play stupid games with Joffrey and Aegon. Sometimes Rhaenys would join too, when she wasn’t quarreling with them. The boys would swat at each other with wooden swords and play at their favorite heroes.

_“I’m Aemon the Dragonknight!”_

_“I’m Aegon the Conqueror!”_

Childish notions for children. Myrcella and Rhaenys couldn’t swat each other with swords or declare themselves kings or great warriors, but they could play at great noble ladies or beautiful queens.

_“I’m Visenya Targaryen!”_

_“Well them I’m Alysanne!”_

Unbeknownst to her, Lord Connington had been watching the entire time. Soon as she proclaimed herself the sister-wife of the Old King, he stepped in.

_“You aren’t Alysanne. And you never will be, you are not a princess or a queen, and you never will be. Now go inside.”_

Myrcella remembered Rhaenys childish smirk. _I cannot blame her. We were children, she couldn’t have known. How would she have known?_

Her sire’s words had stuck with her for years. _I will never be a princess, I will never be queen._

Cersei Lannister had been promised by her grandfather the hand of Prince Rhaegar, but that never came to be.

Will she suffer the same fate? Destined to marry a man who loved his king more than me? Be separated from my eldest son?

Myrcella forced herself out of those thoughts. She drew herself up smoothened the crimson silk skirt that completed her dress. _I am a Lannister._ She thought proudly. No matter who her father was, she was a Lannister, and that meant something.

If father wanted to gallop around the king then so be it, but she _would_ be something in this world. With or without her father’s help.


	2. Chapter 2

**JON - WINTERFELL**

  


In his dreams, the crypts were cold.

They always started out this way, with him outside the tomb of the ancient kings of winter, with only an oil lamplight in his hand to guide him through the darkness.

The yellow-orange light would dance like maiden’s in the sun of the hard black ironwood door than guarded the living from the dead. He would open the door with his free hand and venture into the depths.

A voice would begin to call out to him, _“Jon, Jon”_ the voice would say, barely above a whisper.

As he tried to listen closer, the ironwood door would slam shut.

The statues of the dead kings of winter would suddenly come alive, iron swords in their hands and vengeance in their eyes.

Artos the Implacable would take of his right hand, Theon the Hungry Wolf his left. All of them bouncing on him, running him through with their iron swords until their blades were red with blood.

_“I am one of you!”_ He would call out in despair, forcing himself to cough up with red liquid so he did not choke.

Then one by one, the lords and kings of winter would step back and make way for someone else.

A woman.

_“Mother. . .”_

She looked at him with eyes colder than the Wall itself and said,

_“You are no Stark.”_

Jon woke with a start, wiping away the thin sheet of swat that covered his forehead. Steadying his breath, he gripped the fur sheets that kept him warm, and swallowed.

_It was just a dream,_ he told himself. _It’s not real._

He got up and threw open the shutters that kept the light out of his room. In an instant, his world went from pitch black with pale pink, alive with the morning light.

Most of the castle would be up by now, preparing for the king’s arrival. A bitter taste in his mouth formed when he thought about his father. _I was a Prince once, and he turned me bastard._

Unknown to the rest of the realm, his father and mother were wed under the heart tree, as is custom for Northerners. But after the rebellion was crushed, the king opted to name the son of the woman he started a war over, a bastard, before banishing him to the north.

_Out of sight, out of mind. That is how my father thinks of his children, he who would call himself king._

_No matter. What’s done is done._ He couldn’t sulk about mistake made before he was born, so he got dressed and prepared to meet his uncle downstairs.

Jon threw on something simple, he didn’t want to attract anymore attention that he already did. _I have enough stares already, I’m the kings bastard after all._

Black wool doublet and and black leather breeches he decided. After feeling the air outside, he through on a heavy velvet coat that was tied together by steel chains, the ends wrought in the shape of direwolves.

He made his way to the Great Hall, where the family would break fast. Robb had arrived yesterday, with his betrothed and future good brother in tow. Arya wouldarrive soon with Lady Dustin and her ward, Domeric Bolton.

_The Starks had been scattered around the north. What good is being a wolf if you do not have a pact?_

Bran had spent the last year in White Harbor, planning squire to Wendel Manderly. There were even talks of betrothing the boy to Wendel’s brother Wylis’ eldest daughter and heir, but Lady Catelyn had insisted he was too young.

“Jon.” The voice was soft and barely above a whisper, but he heard it none the less. He turned around to face his uncle’s wife.

“Lady Catelyn.” His relationship with the Lady of Winterfell was often hot and cold. With Robb and Bran gone, she looked to him as a surrogate son, but she never forgot the rebellion, or how far her family fell from grace. Jon was the son of the rebellion, their physical being of everything horrible than happened to her family, and she could never completely forgive him.

“May I speak with you?” He could hardly refuse her, so he nodded and followed his good-aunt.

In her private solar, there was little decoration or ornament.A single banner of house Tully’s sigil stood tall and proud, above it the Seven-Pointed star that symbolized her southern faith.

“I wished to speak with you about your father,” Jon stiffened.

“What about him?” He asked shortly.

“When he comes to Winterfell, I would ask that you seek him out.” Jon frowned.

“Forgive me my lady, but I’m not sure as to why you care so much about my relationship with my father.” His uncles wife smiled.

“Yesterday, I went and prayed to the Gods. I asked them for a sign, and they gave me one, that shooting star was the sign.” Her deep blue eyes were full of resolve. _Has she gone mad?_

Instead of arguing, he bowed his head in affirmation.

“If that is was you wish, my lady.”

“It is.”

**MYRCELLA - DARRY**

  


“We thank you for your hospitality again, Lord Darry.”

The king had been flattering the man all day, and Myrcella could scarce suffer one more second of it.

“The Crown is glad to have such a faithful friend.” Myrcella noticed her father’s reaction. It was small, and barely noticeable, but still there. The slight hitching of breath, the frowning of his lips, the way his eyes grew hard by the second.

_He doesn’t like the king having other favorites, this father of mine._

If it were up to him we’d still be in king’s landing, awaiting the pleasure of Prince Aegon. But the king refused to wait for his heir and set out without him, leaving the boy to scurry after his father with his Tyrell retinue in toe.

They were on the road for twenty days when they finally came to the stout and formidable seat of house Darry. Its ruler, Lord Raymun Darry greeted with before the wide iron gates with forty of his best knights, his wife, and his son and heir Lyman.

The boy was bold and kind, and petted one of Tommen’s cats. Myrcella complemented his kindness, as other boys mocked her younger brother for preferring cats to swords.

His father then took it upon himself to seat him sandwiched in between Myrcella and Tommen. _Can’t bloody show kindness without fools taking it as a marriage proposal._

After another round of toasts and flattery, Myrcella had enough. “Father, might I be excused?” Her father gave her a dismissive look before giving his leave with a wave of his hand.

As she stood two of her ladies Jocelyn Swift and her cousin Rosamund rose to follow.

“Stay, and enjoy the feast.” She commanded. They gave each other a worried look before sitting down. She loved them well, but being followed by them was exhausting.

Myrcella’s crimson and gold dressed reflected beautifully as she walked past the torches that lit Darry’s great hall. She walked the hallways and ventured how into the courtyard until her aimless wandering took her into the vaults beneath the Plowman’s Keep.

There was only a single lit torch where she stood, with the hallway in front of her being riddles with darkness. Myrcella tapped the wooden containers that held old beer and other foodstuffs that felt the castle.

Suddenly, she heard a faint whisper, drowned out by the clatter above. Myrcella held her breath and crept closer, taking care to not make a sound.

“Prince Aegon. . .”

“Father’s crown. . .”

“—Bastard boy, too much of threat. He must be dealt with.”

“The king will not tolerate it.”

“King _Aegon_ will be delighted that his Daemon Blackfyre and threat to his reign is neutralized.”

“But—”

“Do as you are told and nothing more. It is your obedience I require, not your thoughts. Soon, we shall be free of this weakly king, and sit a true dragon in his place.”

_I’m not supposed to be hearing this,_ she told herself hurriedly. Her stomach began to drop inside her, heightening her anxiety.

Soon the voices got smaller and smaller as they walked away. When they were completely gone, she fled the vault.

What those men talked of was treason. _Kill the king? Kill the king’s bastard?_ The rebellion was a sore subject at court, and her mother took a special care to remind her not to ask of it. But cooks and serving girls and guardsmen gossiped, and it was only a matter of time before she learned the truth of things.

_The king stole away his own cousins betrothed, and a war engulfed the seven kingdoms because of it._

The fruit of the king’s illicit affair was a boy named Jon Snow, named after his uncle’s foster father Jon Arryn. Or an insult to the king’s leal servant, if you asked her father.

The boy had been raised at Winterfell, and was visited frequently along with Aegon, but overtime the visits dwindled until contact was completely removed.

_I must tell someone._

But who? Her father wouldn’t believe her, and her mother wouldn’t either. She could not risk their ire, and more importantly, the king’s.

_Tell the bastard boy,_ a voice whispered in her head. It wasn’t her own.

**THE WOLF’S DAUGHTER - WINTERFELL**

  


The king’s party poured through the gates of Winterfell in sea of red and black and brightened steel. The party was over three hundred strong, a cluster of bannermen, knights, freeriders and the like.

Prince Aegon’s party made up the bulk, with all the chivalry of the reach riding with him on pale coursers with flowing white manes. Arya was in awe, despite her hatred of the Targaryens.

Two members of the Kingsguard rode before before the king, carrying his red and black banner on twelve foot lances. They stopped their horses before Father, and gave him a cold stare.

A servant brought a stool so the king could dismount. All of Winterfell, including her father, bent the knee as King Rhaegar’s royal feet touched the ground. The kings silver hair was bound by a Dragonstone brooch, leaving his full face bare.

Despite the kings young years, he seemed ten years older. His forehead was lined with wrinkles and his face gaunt and hollow. A slim simple gold band served as his crown.

He walked towards his father and bid him rise, and all of Winterfell followed their lord. Father regarded him cooly, but if the king had issue, he did not raise it then.

“Your Grace, Winterfell is yours.”

Rhaegar nodded.

“Take me to your crypt Lord Stark, I would pay my respects.” All the chatter seemed to stop, and the whole courtyard stilled. Arya’s breath hitched, but she did not know why.

Father nodded stiffly, “Follow me, Your Grace.” And off they went.

A woman in flowing orange and yellow silks frowned deeply as she watched the king leave. _She must be Queen Elia._

Elia Martell’s popularity in the north was next to nothing. After the war was done, she insisted that her father take the black and her mother be sent to Sunspear to raise her son under the watchful eye of her brother Prince Doran.

This didn’t happen, but her mother’s house lost massive land and rank by the Queen’s insistence. Arya watched as her mother gave a stiff curtesy to the Queen.

“Lady Catelyn.” Queen Elia’s voice was thick with the accent of Dorne.

“Your Grace.” Her mother replied. Elia didn’t spare another look, quickly lifting her skirts and taking her leave, followed by her ladies.

Prince Aegon was all curtesy, something his parents lacked in. Dismounting in swift motion, the prince made a grand bow to her lady mother, and gave a strong handshake to her brother Robb and bowed to his betrothed, Lady Jonella as well. Flanking the prince was Ser Loras Tyrell and Horras Redwyne, to reacher knights

“Lady Arya.” Arya’s face flushed. She was not smooth in courtesies like her sister Sansa or lady mother, but Aunt Barbery taught her well enough.

“Prince Aegon.” He gave her a wide smile, and Arya felt something flutter in her heart. _No!_ She chided herself, _he’s a Targaryen, you can’t like a Targaryen!_

Soon all the others were dismounting, with Farlen and his underlings coming for their mounts. Jon Connington’s mount was right behind the kings, and he scowled at her father as he led Rhaegar to the crypts of Winterfell.

On his neck was a large golden chain of hand interlocked together, the symbol of his office. Next to him was his lady wife Cersei Lannister, riding a mare black as night. Her gown was crimson silk with golden stitching, but was out paced by her flowing gilded mane.

Her twin brother Ser Jaime was next to her, and behind them were three children who introduced themselves as Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen Connington.

Myrcella asked to visit the Sept to thank the Gods for seeing them to the north without harm, and Sansa enthusiastically showed her the way.

Arya would take her own leave, but not to the Sept with her sister and mother, her place of worship was the Godswood.

The forest was three acres, but the density go such made even the Starks get lost in his wilderness. The trees were backed together, and their branches were interwoven and overlapped, creating somewhat of a roofing overhead.

She sat down and laid back again the pale weir wood tree, and began to drift off to sleep.

As Arya drifted, she began to see things. They were hazy and shifted and changed formed ever second, and as soon as she was able to recognize one, it vanished and was replaced by another.

Then a white wolf leaped from the shadows, its eyes blood red and hungry. Its jaws opened up, where teeth as long as daggers eagerly chewed. But white hot flame came first, and soon Arya was burning.

But it wouldn’t end. The wolf kept jumping at her, flames roaring out of its mouth. A pale man covered in blood laughed hysterically as the sun shined on him, bright and blistering. She screamed.

“Arya!” She woke to someone shaking her shoulders with shocking ferosity.

“. . .Jon?” She whimpered. Her head felt heavy and her eyes were sore. A queer soreness settled in her chest and she could barely lift her arm.

“Seven Hells, you’re burning up. I’ll take you to Luwin.” Her cousin bent down and took her in his arms, carrying her away from heart tree and the Godswood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who you think Myrcella heard talking in the vaults? Significance of Arya's dream? Whats Catelyn up to? Specualate below! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**MYRCELLA - WINTERFELL**

“I still don’t get why the king dragged the whole court north.” Joffrey was complaining about the trip again, but Myrcella couldn’t find it in her to be angry with her brother. _It has been too long since I’ve seen him, so if I must wade through his complaints, then so be it._

She had expected to be reunited with him earlier, but Tarly had elected to follow to slow snake that was Prince Aegon’s retinue from Highgarden rather than ride quickly to the capital, so she was forced apart from her brother longer still.

Prince Aegon’s train and the kings finally caught up to each other at the Twins, and Myrcella finally had a chance to see what kind of man her brother grew into.

_He left for Horn Hill when he was four, and now he’s four-and-ten._

“A tour of his realm, officially.” Myrcella stated, Joffrey listened for the unofficial gossip.

“But some say he wishes to visit his bastard son by the Lady Lyanna.” Joffrey laughed.

“Then that’s even worse. Whats a bastard to a true born son? Aegon has been in the reach for years and the king was in no rush to see him.”

Myrcella thought of the voices she heard at Darry, and frowned. The bastard was nowhere to be found when they arrived, nor had he resurfaced when dinner was called, to the kings displeasure. Father was wroth when he spoke of it at dinner, and called it an insult to the crown.

_It’s not like the king hasn’t given him cause._

“Well, it was his royal prerogative. Who are we to judge kings?” Joffrey snorted.

“You sound like father.” Myrcella was shocked by the amount of disdain in his voice. _So I am not the only one who hates him._

“I noticed you haven’t spoken to him.” Joff shrugged.

“And he hasn’t spoken to me either. Strange, since he was the one to send me away.”

“I suppose it was for the best, Lord Randyll is the best father a boy could have.” There were a lot of things that could be said for Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill. A great warrior? Check. Capable commander? Check. Utterly ruthless? Check. Being a good father wasn’t on that list.

“I didn’t realize you had such respect for your foster father.” Her brother smiled.

“He’s only the greatest commander the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen. Dickon is like a brother to me as well, and his daughters are kind too, though they pale in comparison to you.” Myrcella blushed.

“At least one of us was having enjoyed our homes.” Joffrey shook his head at that.

“As much as I love Horn Hill, it’s not my home, and never can be. Only Storm’s End is.”

After the rebellion, many lords called for house Baratheon to be completely attainted, her father included. The king chose a different approach, and instead of sending Renly and Stannis to the Wall, or worse having them executed, he chose to strip them of all lands and titles.

Renly was sent first to Dragonstone, be be fostered along side the Prince Viserys. But when he was knighted he chose to venture to Highgarden, where he took Ser Loras as a squire.

Stannis was basically a begger, being forced out of his home with nowhere to go. But after he proved himself during the Greyjoy Rebellion, the king re instated his knighthood and gave him a small tract of land near the Rainwood to raise a keep.

The king decided to award the Stormlands to his closest friend Jon Connington.

Though he had neither the rank or wealth to threaten her father nor her brother’s succession, Lord Stannis had become somewhat of a legend along with his brother Robert. The siege of Storm’s End was frequently remakes upon as a testament to his strength and will and his acts during the Greyjoy Rebellion only further cemented his popularity.

While Stannis was soaking up fame, her father spent his days not in his kingdom, but playing court to the king. _He thinks Rhaegar’s decree is all it takes to keep them._

Stannis married a cousin, Estrella Estermont and had a single daughter Shireen, but the lack of a male heir would not stop lords from plotting to seat him in her brother’s seat.

“If the Stormlands is what you want, you need to get through Stannis Baratheon.” Joffrey smirked.

“I’m already knowing sister, trust me I have a plan for that.”

They smiled at each other and continued with their conversation, until their cousin Rosamund bursted into the room without warning.

“I told you to wait outside!” She shouted at the girl.

“I know my lady, but its important! Arya Stark had fallen ill!”

**JON - WINTERFELL**

The Godswood was cold and damp when he arrived, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year. _I shouldn’t be here._ He had made a spectacle of himself when he refused to meet the king when he arrived, or when he didn’t show up for dinner.

_The more I wait, the harder I make it for myself._

But he couldn’t leave. He remembered Arya’s soft grey eyes rolling to the back of her head, he remembered how her skin seemed like flame to the touch. And he sobbed.

_My little cousin. What happened to her?_

After he took her to Luwin, the maester commanded that she be given an icebath to relieve her fever, which helped but didn’t completely break it. Jon had waited by her side for the hours that commenced, until Luwin convinced him to leave her to rest. Before he left, he made the man not tell anyone he was there or saved Arya.

That was yesterday, and he hadn’t been into the castle since, preferring to sleep in the naked earth of the Godswood, surrounded by the old gods of the north. He knelt on his knees before the weir wood tree, and prayed.

He prayed for Arya to be ok, he prayed for the fall to end. He prayed for the strength to face his father.

_My father,_ it still sounded strange when he said it. His uncle Eddard was the closest thing to a father he had, and they had grown closer after Robb was sent to Last Hearth.

“Your mother always liked this place.” The voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. Jon immediately stood and turned around.

“Your Grace.” Jon said, giving the king a bow.

He seemed pained at this.

“I guess I deserve that. I’ve never been much of a father to you.” Jon didn’t know what to say.

“How did you find me?”

“Lady Arya had awoken, she told her father that it was you who brought her to the maester.”

“Arya. Not maester Luwin?” The king nodded. _Good, the man always keeps his word._

Jon shifted his feet. The king looked him up and down, until he seemed on the verge of tears. Jon didn’t know what to do.

“Forgive me, Gods. You look just like your mother.” At this Jon broke.

“ _Don’t._ Don’t mention her. Not here.” His voice was thin and cold, but the king didn’t push back.

“I understand. You have every reason to hate me—”

“Why did you come here?” He demanded.

“For absolution? For me to _forgive_ you for what you’ve done? You ought to speak to a septon, for you’ll have no pardon from me!” The king had the audacity to _flinch._

There was silence for a long while between them. The king spoke first.

“It was necessary.” He stated flatly. Then he suddenly grabbed him at the shoulders and shook him wildly while looking into his eyes. His hands to his neck then Jon’s face. His grip was iron strong.

“You may hate me now, but you must understand. I had to do it, for the good of the realm. You’re the light in the darkness, and you’ll save us from the terrors beyond the wall.”

“Terrors?” He mocked. “The wildlings are a bunch of savages, the Night’s Watch can take care of them.”

The king shook his head.

“No. . . not wildlings. The Others.”

**THE DREAMER - WINTERFELL**

When she awoke, Arya was back in her old chambers. The one she had before she left for Barrowton.

Unsurprisingly, it had stayed the same. Just what mother promised.

Soon as she opened her eyes her mother Megan to fuss over her, asking what happened, is she ok, the usual. Arya tried to answer to the best of her ability until her father stepped in.

“Cat, give the girl some rest.” Her mother was about to protest before sighing and nodding.

“I’ll be praying for you in the sept sweet girl.” Lady Catelyn gave Arya a warm kiss before taking her leave. As soon as the door was shut she sighed.

“Take care not to upset your mother, she was worried sick about you.” Arya nodded.

“So it was just a fever?” Arya nodded again. Her father ran a hand through his dark brown tresses before sighing.

“Arya, there something I must tell you, its about the king—”

His words were cut off by a sudden _thump_ from the door. Arya sat up and smiled.

“Aunt Barbrey!”

The Dowager Lady of Barrowton gave a small curtesy to her lord father before walking past and sitting at her beside. Domeric and William came after her, but they took greater care in showing respect to their lord than Aunt Barbrey had.

“I told you about praying without a coat on, you could’ve died!” Barbrey admonished, but Arya could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t truly angry.

Her father and Aunt Barbrey continued to fuss over her while William asked questions about what she saw.

“Dreams are dreams, nothing more.” Domeric said, ending his cousins inquiry.

“Sometimes dreams come true, cousin.” Was all William replied.

William was the only son of William Dustin and Babrey Ryswell, as his father died in the Greyjoy Rebellion from friendly fire of a Stark archer. Though it was an accident, and no true fault of her father’s, Barbrey hated her father. Not only that, but old lord William’s bones were lost at sea after the ship carrying it crashed off the coast of Blazewater Bay, which left her aunt even more bitter.

_I’m the only Stark she loves,_ Arya thought. A part of her hated it, but another, more selfish part, secretly enjoyed it. Aunt Barbrey was _hers,_ as was Domeric and William.

At Winterfell, everything was someone else’s. The north was fathers, and would soon be Robb’s. Her mother was the Lady of Winterfell and Sansa was her darling girl. Even Jon Snow, her favorite of her family had a legal, if tenuous claim to the entire realm. What did she have? She was the ugly second daughter, more beast than girl. And not a perfect lady like Sansa.

But she had the heir to the Dreadfort, Barrotown and its lady at her side. They loved truly, not because she was the heir like Robb or because she was beautiful and could flatter them like Sansa. But because she was _Arya._

And she couldn’t thank them enough for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on Joffrey's plan for Stannis, Arya's relationship with Barbrey Dustin, or what Catelyn's up to? Speculate below! :)


	4. Chapter 4

** SANDOR - WINTERFELL **

_Another day, another cunt to guard._

In this case the cunt wasn’t half bad as her supreme cunt of a father, now _that_ was a man he couldn’t serve. Even Lady Cersei wasn’t so insufferable.

This little lady was not bad however, she gave him orders and he followed them. No fluff, no games, no power-play bullshit. Just simple work for a simple man. _Too bad her bloody grandfather won’t leave me alone, I’d like serving this girl._

Tywin Lannister hadn’t been offered his old place at court by King Rhaegar, not after he sat out the rebellion on his golden arse, hiding under Casterly Rock. Instead that honor went to his daughter Cersei and son Jaime. If the Small Council thought exile would humble the proud Lion Lord, they were terribly mistaken.

Instead he turned his banner men into spies, whenever his children defied his commands. Though that was a rare instance. Sandor was chosen on the account of his brother’s, _insufficiency._ Meaning Gregor was too much of a dumb brute to handle such tasks.

So every week he sent letters back to Tywin, reporting on the moves of Cersei, Jaime, and Cersei’s children. It was daunting and out of his element, but he dared not complain. If he wasn’t in Tywin’s service, he’d have to go back home. _With him._

The trip north was supposed to be short and sweet. A tour of the realm for the king, and the chance to reunite with his bastard son. But soon as they were there the younger Stark daughter caught a chill in the Godswood, and the king insisted on remaining until she was well. Something about bad omens. He wondered if the king was concerned about omens when he stole the Stark bitch from her betrothed.

_He probably read it in a prophecy somewhere._

“Sandor,” the little lady wore golden silk brocade and a crimson velvet cape with the sigil of her mother’s house painted in gold. He turned to her.

“My Lady Connington.” He bit out gruffly, his words muffled by his helm.

  
“Find my brother and bring him to me.” He nodded and set off to find the elder Connington boy.

Winterfell was a great beast of a castle with many corridors, hallways, towers and keeps. But based on what he’d seen from the boy he could break down the possibilities of his whereabouts. _Most like the training yard, that boy is joined to Randyll Tarly at the hip._

He was right.

“Harder!” The boy was trading blows in the training yard with a knight with a bound deer upside down emblazoned on his surcoat.

“Hit me harder damnit!” The boy was tall for his age, and just as strong. With his curly golden hair and skill with the sword, the boy seemed the very image of his uncle Ser Jaime in his youth.

The boy blocked a blow from the deer knight and gave one of his own, striking true in the man’s side. His opponent doubled over in pain.

“Yield!”

Randyll Tarly watched with strong eyes as his ward helped the man off the ground,

“You let yourself be bested by a boy of four-and-ten.” His voice was not angry, but observant, as if he were stating that the sky was blue.

The man stammered with excuses, but Tarly dismissed him. Then their eyes met. Tarly turned to Joffrey.

“Well fought lad, with time you may even surpass that uncle of yours.” Joffrey beamed. He then gestured to Sandor, “Your sisters pet has some business with you.”

The boy wiped sweat off his brow as he approached him, then took a swig from a wineskin.

“I hear my sister has some business?”

“The Lady Myrcella sent me to bring you to her.” The boy frowned.

He was about to come along anyway when Randyll spoke up.

“And what business is that? I’m sure the Lady Myrcella has more appropriate guards then the likes of you.” Clegane growled, but before he could speak Joffrey broke in.

“Bring me to her? Am I a dog?” Sandor didn’t have time for the games.

“Your sister—”

“No. I don’t think so. You are though, that’s why you have one for your sigil.” _Dogs are dangerous went mistreated when roused, boy, you had best remember that boy._

“Go dog. If my sister has business with me she’ll to see to me herself, rather then sending her pet freaks.”

Sandor gritted his teeth so hard Stannis Baratheon would be envious. Clenching his heavy fisted hands, he turned and walked away. The boy was a pissant to be sure, but he was a grandson of Tywin Lannister, he could hardly throttle of heir of the man he served.

As he walked away he saw the smug look of Tarly as he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, leading him away.

Then the boy suddenly stopped and turned to look at him. “You know, you can do one thing for me dog. Find Stannis Baratheon, tell him I wish to speak with him.”

**THE GODS SERVANT - WINTERFELL**

  


Catelyn looked at her stitches with dissatisfaction. Her work was usually better than this, but since Arya fell sick, she couldn’t keep a steady hand. _The lack of sleep does not serve me._ But how could she rest when her daughter tossed and turned in the night, burning from fever? It did not feel right. It _wasn’t_ right.

Her daughter had recovered after three days abed, most of them she spent sleeping after Maester Luwin gave her milk of the poppy for her headaches. Catelyn found herself in the sept from dusk till dawn, praying.

_Praying for_ _what?_ She asked herself. First it was for the strength to see the king’s visit through, despite her personal feelings. Then it was for her daughter’s fever to break, and for her to wake from her slumber but now. . .

Cat couldn’t help but notice the significance of the king’s arrival and the tragedy that befell her daughter. _My daughter was happy and safe at Barrowton, then the king forced his way here._

Were the Gods punishing her? Striking her where it hurt because her family rose up against rightful monarch? No, they wouldn’t strike Arya, she’s an innocent.

She gripped her rosary tighter, and prayed.

After she was done she left the sept and walked around the courtyard, enjoying the fresh air. The king had wished to hunt so her husband, son, and other courtiers fled to the woods with their hounds and huntsmen.

The guardsmen who remained made their rounds leisurely, some arm-in-arm with the ladies of Elia of Dorne’s court. Catelyn smiled inwardly. _Young love, it’s a beautiful thing._

Her mind went to her first boy, Robb, and how he fussed over his betrothed at dinner. Feeding her morsels of food with the tip of his dagger. _Their marriage will make us strong, and endear my son to the north._

While Ned and his late brother and father were beloved, Catelyn was not, at least at first. With her southern gods and ways, she was the opposite of everything they held dear.

Her son took after her in appearance, with the auburn hair and blue eyes of house Tully. So to Catelyn is was vital that he was betrothed to a girl of a strong house in order to secure his rights. _The girl is beautiful, a maiden, and most importantly a daughter of house Umber._ Their marriage will ensure Umber’s loyalty.

The thundering sounds of horse hoofs came before she knew it, and Catelyn walked to the center of the courtyard so she could greet her husband.

Robb came in first, riding hard and fast, a wide cocky smile on his face. On the back of his steed was a buck, a felled arrow sticking out its throat. Dried blood was sprawled on its back, and crawled all the way up to his saddle.

“Nice catch.” She complemented.

“Thats not all mother.” Her son reached into the pockets of his saddle and produced. . . a _puppy?_

It was bigger than any puppy she’d seen.

“Farlen has enough puppies.” In fact the stables were overflowing with them, if Catelyn was cruel she’d leave them out the castle to starve.

“Not a puppy lady mother, a direwolf.” Catelyn’s eyes widened in shock.

The dire wolf was the sigil of house Stark, and served as a sobriquet for many pompous kings. _Just like men to believe a lion or wolf on their shields will make them so._

But the dire wolves were slaughtered when the First Men crossed the arm of Dorne and settled into the North and raised their stone castles, and haven’t been sighted south of the Wall in almost two hundred years.

The wolf sported sharp yellow eyes and smoke grey fur, and when he bared his teeth, his fangs were white and sharp.

“His name is Grey Wind. When I tried to catch him, he ran so fast I thought I’d lose him.” _The Seven send me a sign._ Her brother Edmure came next, with her uncle Brynden close behind him each caring deers behind their saddles.

“You must keep these wolves with you Robb.” She said fiercely.

“Of course I will.” She shook her head.

“No, I mean truly keep them. This is a sign for the gods. When your sister fell ill I spent whole days in the sept, begging for a sign. The Seven sent these wolves to protect my children. Who better to shield a Stark than a wolf?” Robb wasn’t convinced, but instead of arguing he smiled.

“Of course mother, I will keep him near me.”

_Dark things are coming, they must be prepared._

She didn’t know what, but whatever it was, her family would be strong enough to whether it.

Out of the corner her eye she saw Jon, holding a pup as white as snow, with blood red eyes.

Her heart froze.

_Comet’s eyes._

King’s comet, JonConnington declared, when the subject was broached at break fast. The red of Targaryen. Her brother had been convinced it was a trout in the red and blue of house Tully. Lady Cersei had proclaimed it Lannister crimson. _King’s comet._

_Is the the sign you send me, oh lord father?_

The wolves. Her daughters illness, the comet. . . what could this all mean?

The Seven work in mysterious ways, her Septon told her when she was a girl. Their intent is concealed and hidden, until such a time where man can bear hearing their divine wisdom.

_I am worthy._ She told herself, _speak to me, tell me!_

“Seven Hells, you got one to Snow? They’ve made a northerner out of you truly.” Benjen Stark remarked. Her husbands brother came up with he king’s party and spent nearly every waking moment in the company of his brother and nephew.

“Aye. I am half Stark after all, and this is next best thing to a dragon.”

“Imagine you with a dragon. Aegon the Conqueror reborn.”

_Dragons._

Everything slowly started to make sense. The king’s visit, Arya’s sudden illness, Jon saving her. Catelyn slowly started to piece things together, slowly but surely she did.

_Jon is meant to be king._

_And the Seven choose me to seat him upon his throne._

She took a step towards her nephew. “Jon, do you have a moment to speak?”

**MYRCELLA - WINTERFELL**

  


The bastard wasn’t what Myrcella expected.

_Bastards are born of lust and lies,_ her septa told her. Treacherous by nature, and never to be trusted. _Treason comes to bastards like truth comes to true borns_ , her father scolded when she asked about her younger cousin, Ronald Storm.

But the boy in front of her seemed neither treacherous nor lust born in her view. He was tall and well muscled, with hair was dark as a raven’s wings cut short, barely past his ears, and combed over neatly.

More importantly, he was handsome. Dark eyebrows and a strong jawline that seemed sharper than Valyrian steel. Myrcella’s breath hitched. She waited for him near the Godswood, after Lady Arya confessed that he went there to pray every morning.

“Lady Myrcella?” The bastard asked. She chided herself for her childishness, _I hold urgent business that could lead to the king’s death, and here I am blushing like a love struck maid!_

“I would like to speak with you.” Jon looked even more shocked when he heard that, but nodded his head nonetheless, walking around the edges of the Godswood.

“I should’ve told you earlier, but I couldn’t find you and I dare not entrust these words to a servant.” The boy’s faced turned suspicious.

“Has something happened?”

“Not exactly–Well, you see–I heard––” Jon raised a hand, stopping her.

“Take a breathe. It’s ok, tell me what happened.” His long face and soothing voice sent chills down her spine, but she willed those thoughts away.

“When the king’s party stopped at the Darry while on our way here, there was a grand feast in honor of the king.” The boy rolled his eyes at the mention of his father.

“But that’s not important. I stole away from the festivities and went down to the vaults below the keep, but when I got there I heard to men speaking. The threatened the king, and _you_ , my lord.”

Jon Snow’s face hardened.

“They threatened _me_? But I’m just a bastard!” Myrcella wasn’t done.

“Thats not all, the men said something about Aegon. I believe they mean to kill your father to place him on the throne, and kill you so you won’t pose a threat.” Jon scowled.

“They always mutter that I’m another Blackfyre. The real question is if my brother knows of this plot.” Myrcella thought on it.

Prince Aegon’s manner wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t his father either. When learning of the Blackfyre Rebellion he proclaimed that if _he_ were king, he’d execute Daemon and all his sons and daughters, and Aegor too as soon as he took the throne, whether they had rebelled or not.

When King Rhaegar brought back Theon Greyjoy as a hostage after his own failed rebellion, the prince proclaimed that he should’ve brought his head, along with the heads of every man with Greyjoy blood in his veins.

“We need to tell the king.” She said. Jon nodded.

“That we do.” He suddenly grabbed her hands tightly, and looked her in the eyes with his, grey meeting green.

“I am grateful that you told me this information Lady Myrcella, and I very well may owe you my life. But this is very sensitive. If what you say is true and there is a plot against the king, they may come after you too since your father is close with mine, and serves as his hand. _Tell no one_ least of all your father, we all know how rash he is. Have Ser Sandor with you at all times and I’ll send a few more guards for you and your siblings until you leave Winterfell.”

Myrcella nodded numbly, but she couldn’t help but think about how easy he took the situation into control. His eyes were determined but he was relaxed, as if he’s done this before.

“What about you?” She asked, and then cursed herself when she realized how simpers she sounded. At that he laughed.

“Have no fear Lady Myrcella, they breed us hard here in the North. Nothing shall kill a Stark in Winterfell.”

“But you’re a Targaryen too.” By how his eyes flashed, Myrcella knew it was the wrong thing to say, but his eyes calmed and they glittered, amused.

“Only half. And everyone always says I’m my mothers son.”

After that she left the boy alone in the Godswood. As she made her way back to her chambers, she saw her brother’s foster father talking to a man with a black hand, surrounded by golden triangles on his surcoat. She didn’t recognize the other man, but made note of it.

_With traitors lurking about, every one is suspect._

She agreed with the bastard about not telling her father. Despite being hand of the king and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands for well over a decade, her father still was as foolish as they day Aerys made him hand.

_My foolish idiot of a father would find someway to fuck it up, and have all our heads on pikes right next to his._

No, she would not put her life in his hands. Myrcella wasn’t even convinced that he cared about her or siblings. _He’d probably like it if we were all dead, that way he can marry some pretty new maiden and have new kids who don’t question him. The perfect fucking family._

Her faced was red with ire, and she quickly ducked off so she could have a minute to calm down.

Soon she was in her chambers, thinking of what to do next when someone bursted through her door.

Myrcella’s heart nearly exploded inside of her chest as she sat up. But it wasn’t assassins waiting for her, it was Joffrey. Annoyed, she walked over to him furiously, emerald eyes gleaming.

“Seven Hells is wrong with you, jumping in my room in such a manner?”

“I could say the same to you, sister. Having your _beast_ come fetch me like I’m a child.” Myrcella frowned.

“Sandor isn’t a beast. He’s my man and disrespecting him is disrespecting me. I had something important to talk to you about, but now that I know that your pride is more important I’ll keep it to myself!”

Joffrey blinked, surprised at her anger. In truth, so was Myrcella. She never got angry with her brother, not like that. The traitors in Darry had her on edge, constantly wondering if today was the day Aegon’s secret supporters would kill the king and his loyal servants, her father included.

Joffrey took a seat and looked at her with a blank stare. They both looked at each other for a long time, neither willing to back down.

Myrcella broke first.

“There has been a plot against the king.” Joffrey didn’t look surprised.

“He’s the king. Kings always have plots against them.” She ignored his tone.

“I heard some men talking when we were in Darry. They talked of killing the king and his bastard, and placing Aegon on the throne.” At this her brother stirred.

“If they wish to kill the king, they may strike at our father as well.” Joffrey said.

“And us, by extension.” She added. Her brother nodded.

“I’ll arrange for extra guards for you, mother and Tommen.”

“What about you?” Her brother looked as if she had slapped him.

“I’m no craven. If a man wishes to kill me, I welcome the challenge.” His face was full of determination, emerald eyes as hard as the gems they took after.

“Joff–—” He silenced her with a hand.

“I’ll take another guard, if that saves me from whatever lecture you’re about to give me.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes, playfully slapping him on the arm.

“I’m just trying to keep you safe, idiot.” Her brother smiled back.

“Thats my job sweet sister. I’ll keep you safe, I promise you that.” She gave her brother a big hug, allowing all her fears to be washed away in his arms. She sighed softly when he broke it.

“And another thing, have the bastard meet with me before we leave. I wish to speak with him.”

“Very well. Did you speak with Stannis?” Sandor had told her of her brother’s request.

“No. The old maid has _business_ to attend to. Or at least that’s what his captain of guards told your dog.” He gave an apologetic look under her icy gaze.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way for him to agree to your proposal. It’s the only way his blood will ever sit on the throne of Storm’s End.” Joffrey nodded.

“I will. By all the Seven Gods I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whats Randyll up to? Thoughts on Catelyn's declaration? Whats Joffrey's plan? Speculate below :)
> 
> The Winterfell arc will slowly be coming to an end in the next chapter, excited to show you what happens next!
> 
> this is how I imagine Jon Snow in this fic : https://i.redd.it/j8pw7p92tl061.jpg
> 
> and this is how I imagine Myrcella : https://cdn1.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/001/773/229/large/mihai-radu-myrcella-nell.jpg?1452536224


	5. Chapter 5

** JON - WINTERFELL **

The Godswood was the most familiar stranger he knew.

Its gnarled black trees, corrupted dirt, and still pool was the most comforting place in all of Winterfell. Beneath the tree canopy, the rain fell in a slight drizzle.

“This place scares me.” The voice was a soft purr, making Jon stifle a groan.

“It’s not a place for southern maids or Lannisters.” He said softly to the girl. She laughed and sat next to him, disregarding how wet her dress would get in the soupy dirt.

“I’m not a Lannister my lord, I’m a Connington.”

“You look like a Lannister.”

“Thank the Seven for that.” He laughed at her boldness, and so did she.

“You ought not to be here. Noble ladies shouldn’t be in the company of bastards.”

“You’re a kings bastard. That means something, no?” He shook his head.

“I’m afraid not.” His words came out colder then he meant it to, but before he could apologize she gave him a look that said _its ok._

“My father isn’t the best either.”

“Truly? I wouldn’t have guessed.” She laughed again, and he noticed how her eyes lit up when she did. _Get it out of your head Snow._ She was just toying with him, he was a summertime dalliance, no more. And when she went south she’d marry a high lord with better prospects than him.

“Lord Connington is a loyal servant to your father. So much so that he doesn’t have time for his actual family.”

“My father has a way of gaining loyalty.” There was silence for a long while, and Jon contemplated how best to continue to conversation.

“At least you have your mother.” Myrcella nodded.

“My mother is kind, but she can be a bit overbearing.”

The Lioness of Lannister was prideful and arrogant from what he’d seen, and if rumors were true, Lady Cersei and Queen Elia fought for dominance at the court of his father not only for influence, but for the kings affections as well. At least that was what the gossiping washerwomen said.

His mother had died of childbed fever a week after giving birth to him. The only memory of Lyanna Stark was the cruel ghost that haunted his dreams.

_“You are no Stark.”_ She would say with a face pale as milk, a gown of blood trailing behind her.

What else could he be, besides a Stark? Thats all he wanted in this world.

Lady Catelyn was kind, if a bit distant and resentful. _Even she has been lost to me._ When he last spoke to her, the lady seemed half mad, raving about comets and dragons and his right to the Iron Throne.

Most like she wants him to return his families duchy and place among the great families of Westeros. _Better off wedding Sansa to Aegon if you want a better place in society, lady aunt._

“She’s the daughter of Tywin Lannister. Some would say it is expected of her.” Myrcella nodded.

“My Lady mother is the heir of the great Tywin Lannister. The ancient blood of the kings of the rock flow through my veins. Lannister and Targaryen are the great pillars of westeros, you will find no better friend than us.”

“It would seem so. But I’m not a Targaryen, and you’re not a Lannister.” Jon looked at the weirwood face, contemplating.

“I must go Lady Myrcella, but I would be grateful if you would walk the gardens with me on the morrow.” _Foolish bastard,_ a hateful voice whispered to him, haughty and slithering. _Why would a Lannister girl walk the gardens with the likes of you?_

“I would enjoy that as well my lord. I’ll be there.”

Jon gave a low bow to the lady and calmly walked away, heart fluttering. It was foolish, but he didn’t care. He allowed himself to be selfish.

Just this once.

** THE DREAMER - WINTERFELL **

In her dreams, the pale man was covered in blood. In her dreams, a great stone dragon woke from its iron chains.

In her dreams, she was a Queen.

“Tell me cousin, what did this pale man look like?” William’s bright hazel eyes were filled with curiosity. He held a quil in his hand dipped in ink, ready to write down her every word.

Arya shifted on her feet, thinking. “I don’t know Will. He was just pale, that’s all.”

“And the dragon comes after this, are you sure?” She frowned.

“ _Yes_ I’m sure! Do you take me for a liar?” William put his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, no need to be upset, just a question is all.”

“Do you know what this means?” Arya and William had been discussing the possible meanings, but they had yet to come up with a reasonable solution.

“The white wolf is most curious to me. It seems to match your cousins wolf exactly.” Her mind went to Ghost, the ice white wolf with eyes red as blood. Her heart chilled.

“But why would the Gods sent me a dream of Jon’s wolf?” William shrugged.

“The Gods rarely show us their will immediately, cousin. We will have to wait until they deem us worthy.” Her cousin stood, dark brown hair falling past his shoulders and behind his back.

“I will pray for guidance in the Godswood. Have your guards fetch me if you dream anything else.” Arya nodded wordlessly, and watched sadly as her best friend left her chambers.

_The Gods play me like a piece on a cyvasse board._ She thought angrily. Why did they curse her with these dreams? They came every night, vivid as before. Arya swallowed.

_The wolf, its terrible flames, the pale man, who are they? What do they want?_

If Jon was the white wolf in her dreams like Will said, why did the flames burn her? Jon was like a brother to her, he would never see her harmed. _He doesn’t even want to be a damned Targaryen._

Her chamber door was opened, and through the hallway Lady Barbrey Dustin, Countess of Barrowton, stepped in. Though she wasn’t her aunt in truth, she was the closest thing she had. Besides, her former love with her uncle Brandon had to count for something.

She sat up and smiled at her, “Aunt.” Lady Barbrey smiled back.

“Arya.”

A guardsman attempted to follow her into the room, but a cold glare from her sent him scurrying.

“I thought you were heading back to Barrowton?” While she hated the Starks, her aunt hated the Targaryens even more, blaming them for the death of her beloved. The sight of the king was almost too much to bare, but Prince Aegon and his swaggering knights had sent Lady Dustin into a furious rage, though she didn’t show it publicly.

“I was, but I decided against it. My William insists on remaining here with you, and I don’t trust your father to ensure his safety.” Arya had to physical restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

It wasn’t the first time her aunt made insinuations about her father, and it wouldn’t be the last. Eddard Stark had gotten her beloved William Dustin killed, and there was nothing he could do to win back her loyalty.

“Father would never harm Will, you know that.” Barbrey pursed her lips.

“I know nothing. The only thing guaranteed in this world are taxes and death. Nonetheless, that is no matter. There is an issue of greater importance.”

She crossed over to Arya’s door and looked outside, before closing it tight. She then crossed over to the shutters and closed them as well. Arya frowned.

“What’s the meaning—” Barbrey shushed her.

“Your castle is busy, Lady Arya. The walls here have ears and my Domeric has been listening. He hears talk of treason. Talk of killing the king and your bastard cousin.” Arya’s mouth widened in shock.

“Who would dare strike at the king? And why would they harm Jon? He’s a bastard, with no right to inheritance.” Barbrey shrugged.

“He’s male. So long as he lives, he’s a threat to that boy Aegon. As to your first question, Domeric tells me that these conspirators want Aegon on the throne, so my guess is the Dornish or the Tyrells. Rumor has it they wish to wed their flower Margaery to the Prince.” Arya’s head was swimming, she could feel the dreams coming again.

“How do you know all this?”

“It’s my duty to know. Your father thinks himself too _honorable_ to use spies, but as long as his fate is tied to yours, I will do my best to keep his wretched soul intact.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about my father.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Barbey said dryly.

“We must tell Jon.” She said quickly, but Barbrey just smiled.

“Oh Arya. Where did you think Domeric learned this? It seems your cousin has made many enemies.” She took a sip of the dreamwine that was left by William.

“And some friends too, it seems.”

** THE LION’S DAUGHTER - WINTERFELL**

“Will you stop playing with your food? It’s beneath you.” Mother was chiding Joff again, but if the boy cared he didn’t show it.

“You’re right on that note lady mother. This food is beneath me. No wonder the northerners all starve to death come winter when they’re fed this slop.”

Myrcella found herself angry at the insult of Jon’s homeland.

“The northern food is hearty and fills your stomach, you ought to be grateful to be fed at all, brother.” Her brother glared at her.

“Just because you fancy yourself in love with the bastard doesn’t mean you have to chide me on behalf of his people.” Myrcella’s face turned crimson, and mother gave her a hard look.

“I-I am _not_ in love with him!” She defended pathetically. Her brother only smirked.

“Though I don’t blame you, he’s better than that Tarth boy father wished to give your hand. Though you’d do better with Dickon.” Myrcella rolled her eyes.

Joffrey had formed a special bond with the Tarly’s during his fosterage, most of all with Lord Randyll’s second son Dickon. In order to seal this brotherhood, Joff had the wise idea to give him her hand in marriage. Unfortunately he didn’t feel the need to council her in this arrangement.

“Women don’t have a choice. Do you think mother wanted to marry father?”

“Mother!” She whined, hoping she would come to her defense. Mother instead nodded.

“Your brother has the right of it. Your husband will be chosen for you, though you will have a better match then a second son of a vassal lord.” When Joff began to protest, she shut him down with a look.

“Don’t start boy. You are to close to them by half. You are a _Lannister,_ not a Tarly. Remember that.” Her mother took another swig of wine and frowned.

“Myrcella, while I’m disappointed that you’ve gotten your feelings involved with the bastard, perhaps it could be of some use to us. Get close to him, but keep your heart and maidenhead intact. I did not raise a fool.”

Myrcella blushed under her mother’s scrutiny, but nodded nonetheless. _Mother knows best,_ she said sadly.

When father was off licking Rhaegar’s arse, it was mother who contended to the dreadful Martell Queen and marked their place at court when others would see them ousted. It was all mother. She remembered how the scheming bitch queen suggested that her father put her mother aside, and marry her niece in her place.

She doubted Arianne Martell, who had a reputation for taking comely knights into her bed would wed the old lord of Storm’s End who rarely took his husbandly rights from his wife, but stranger things have happened.

“I fear I am not the only one who has to be betrothed.” She gave a sharp look to her brother.

“Its a good match. No man will doubt my ascension with Stannis’ sole daughter by my side. Our hold on the Stormlands will be hard as iron.” Mother nodded.

“I had hoped for a royal match for you, but it seems that the Targaryen’s do not wish for my friendship, nor my fathers. Daenerys, the dowager Queen Rhaella’s daughter is a pretty thing. I would’ve even stooped as low as the half Dornish bitch if it was a guaranteed match.”

Myrcella frowned. While she didn’t love her mother, Princess Rhaenys was kind and gentle, and had none of the infamous spunky Dornish personality.

“I heard the Princess will wed Edmure Tully.” Joff’s face screwed up.

“That man can barely hold his own lands, and is the son of a hanged traitor. What could he give her that I could not?” Her mother snorted.

“She’s a fool is she believes the trout lord is a better match than a Lannister. They don’t even rule the riverlands! Either way you shall marry a girl who can strengthen your hold on the Stormlands. If not a royal match, then you shall pursue Lady Shireen.”

Joff agreed, “Your bastard still hasn’t met with me.”

“Calling him a bastard isn’t likely to make him forthcoming.” Her brother frowned.

“But he is a bastard. Lying to him won’t make this untrue.”

“Why do you want to speak to the king’s bastard? Haven’t you been getting on with Prince Aegon?”

“Prince Aegon is a weakling. He hangs around the swordswallower too much, which isn’t surprising considering he squired for the Red Viper. And I just wanted to see what he was doing with my sister. People talk Myrcella, have you no regard for your virtue?”

She hissed, “There’s nothing wrong with walking in the Godswood.”

“There is if it’s with the king’s bastard without chaperone.” Joffrey finished.

“Enough! I will hear no more about this bastard. Joff, leave us.” Her brother pouted, but did as he was told.

After her brother left, it was just mother and daughter alone in her fathers chambers. _She is beautiful._ Myrcella thought, and she was her reflection, if a decade younger.

Cersei Lannister’s long golden-blond hair was thick as a lions mane, and fell past her waist in curls. Atop her head was a slim coronet adorned with a single emerald gemstone to complement her eyes that bore the same color.

Her gown was Myrish lace and burgundy velvet, expertly sewn to hug tight to her slender frame and exploit the little curves she did have.

Mother looked her up and down.

“Tell me, does the bastard love you?” Myrcella blushed at the thought.

“We fancy each other. . . but I wouldn’t know if it was love.”

“If what you said is true, and Prince Aegon means to kill his brother, there will be war. The Starks will not take such an insult.”

“Will we stand against them?” The thought of going to war against Jon pained her.

Mother shrugged, “It depends if we can benefit. Mace Tyrell aims to wed his daughter to the Prince, but you’ll be a much better Queen that that smirking whore. But if the Prince Aegon does not see the wisdom in wedding you, perhaps his brother willbe more... inclined.”

“He invited me to walk the gardens with him on the morrow.” She whispered, her mother’s eyes lit up.

“Good. Very good. You’re better than I was at your age. I was too arrogant and had too much faith in my father’s promises. You won’t fail as I did.” Cersei stood and crossed over to where Myrcella was sitting and grabbed her face.

“The Tyrells and the Dornish are sinking their claws into Aegon. The heir to Dorne has her sights on him as well, and its a repotted seductress. We must close ranks, your brother will court the Prince of Dragonstone and so will you, but do not neglect the bastard. No matter which son of Rhaegar wins, we will be on top, with you as Queen.”

“I won’t fail mother. I will do my duty.” Cersei smiled.

“I’m happy to hear it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**SANDOR - BARROWTON**

“How do you find it, being the lapdog for the Lannisters.” Sandor glared at the woman. If anyone else had said that he’d have their tongue.

“About the same as you find serving the Starks.” Lady Dustin grinned thinly.

“Well, it’s not that horrid I fear. Arya is a wonder, no thanks to my help. She’d be as foolish as her sister if that red-haired septa had raised her.”

“I forget you Northerners worship trees.”

“At least our trees are dignified. Does the high Septon still enjoy taking young boys into his bed?” He grunted.

“I could give a rats arse about the High Septon. I protect lordlings with golden hair, the Gods are out of my element.” Lady Barbrey sniffed at him.

“Clearly.”

The Lady left then, gathering her night black skirts and shuffling down the corridor.

The king’s party had left Winterfell over a month ago, but instead of the king, it was Prince Aegon at the head of the column. The King had wished to inspect the Wall with Lord Stark instead.

The Imp and Ser Jaime had gone with him, so that was two less golden haired fucker he’d have to watch. Sandor almost thanked the Gods.

It would’ve been perfect, if the bastard didn’t decide to accompany them.

The boy had wished to escort his cousin back to her governess’ stronghold he claimed. More likely he wished to steal extra glances at the Lady Myrcella.

_Why do you care if the bastard likes to look at her?_ He asked himself. Sandor growled.

The little lion lady was the only charge he didn’t despise, and he would be most wroth if her mother sent her to some septry because a bastard couldn’t keep his hands to himself. _I’ll take them off and feed them to my dogs, if he touches her._

_I could care less about the girl, I just don’t want to guard Joffrey._

Sandor was posted outside Lady Cersei’s chambers as she held her women’s court. All were invited, but Lady Barbrey had pleaded illness and the Queen had hosted her own in the great hall.

The titters and laughters of highborn ladies pierced through the oak and iron door, and Sandor couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck was so funny.

The door suddenly flung open, and through the opening Myrcella stepped out, her long golden hair done in a simple braid. Sandor grunted to make his appearance known.

“I know you’re there Sandor. My ever valiant protector.” He heard someone snort in the background, but Myrcella gave a sharp look behind her, silencing them.

“Come with me Sandor, these northern castles are ever the challenge.”

He escorted the girl as she took a walk around Barrow Hall. The castle was stout, with strong high walls and towers made of smooth grey stone. Myrcella took a peak inside the great hall and gave curtsies to Queen Elia, but afterwards she made her way to the training yard.

“I have a rose to find,” she said sweetly, when he inquired to their business.

Soon they were in the training yard where several lords were swatting at each other with wooden sticks. He recognized Ser Loras Tyrell by the three golden flowers on his surcoat, next him a man with bright auburn hair quickly whispered something in his ear.

Tyrell stepped forward, “Hound.” He said pompously.

“Spare a bout?” Clegane grumbled and looked towards the lady. Myrcella smiled.

“Who am I to deny such a noble request?” She piped, green eyes shimmering with curiosity and. . . something else.

Sandor nodded and shamed his helm shut. He walked over to where the arms were and picked a two handed great axe for his weapon. Loras chose a sword.

A small crowd began to form and Prince Aegon himself were among those placing bets on the bout.

“A hundred silver stags on Ser Loras!” He proclaimed loudly.

“Make that two. For my valiant protector.” Myrcella cut in. Aegon gave a knowing smile, nodding.

Sandor took his place in the middle of the yard where a half circle made of men began to form behind him. The Tyrell boy chose a longsword and shield, and took his place infant of him.

“FIGHT!” The prince roared.

“Rip him Loras!” _Won’t be the ripping you’re used to, Tyrell._

Sandor griped the ash wood handle fiercely and swung.

His first swings were lazy, in an attempt to get a measure of the Tyrell boy.

_He’s quick, and strong. But too concerned with looking good in front of his liege._ That’ll get him killed in battle.

When Loras swung is longsword at his helm, Sandor quickly sidestepped and gave a blow of his own, aiming for the knights chest. But the boy saw this and ducked and spun around raising his sword and giving a sharp cut downward.

Sandor flipped his axe sideways and blocked the blow and pushed back, sending Tyrell stumbling.

The crowd had tripled, screaming encouragement and epithets at the squabbling men. Myrcella loudest of all.

“Finish him Sandor! For Lannister! For house Lannister!”

Over and over again the two traded blows, each trying to force an opening from the other. Sandor could’ve easily ended things, but those ways would’ve ended the the little flowers death, and he did not feel like listening to the blustering Mace Tyrell.

When Loras attempting to strike him again, Sandor side stepped before Turing the axe around and swinging with all his might at his helm.

_Crack!_

The sword slipped out of the boys hands like silk, and fell in the dirt, senseless.

Sandor’s breath was heavy, and his sides hurt where Tyrell had nicked him.

“Hah! I knew he’d win. Pay up, your grace.”

Sandor forced his helm open and got looked towards the Prince, whose face was murderous.

“Pay them.” He then stormed off, leaving Barrow Hall’s maester to attend to his friend.

_Some brother he is. I wonder how Margaery will take this?_

“You fought well Sandor.” He nodded at her.

“You are kind Lady Myrcella.” He grunted. She laughed, and he frowned.

“You don’t have to be so tough all the time you know. Anyways I’m sure you’re tired, Vylarr can escort me to the feast tonight. Get some rest.”

He watched her leave, eyes stuck on her bright golden hair.

**THE KING’S BASTARD - GREYWATER WATCH**

The rain comes in heavy drizzles around Greywater Watch.

“My apologies for the poor weather, my lord.” Howland Reed was the head of house Reed and the lord of the stone-and-earth castle that drifted upon the crannog.

_This man knew my mother._

The few times his uncle recalled the great Tourney of Harrenhal, he never failed to mention his old friend.

_He was beaten by Frey squires, and my mother defended his honor in the lists._

For her bravery his father rewarded her with a crown of blue winter roses. . .

Jon wondered if she felt honored after the Mad King hanged her brother and burned her father alive. _Did she care? Did she ever think about what she did?_

She gave him his name his uncle told him. A good Stark one, after an old King in the North.

_“You are no Stark.”_ The ghost whispered.

“Leave!” He roared, slamming a fist down on the old wooden table.

Jon flinched, not realizing how loud he spoke.

“Forgive me Lord Reed. . . and no need to apologize, I am grateful for your hospitality.”

After Arya had been safely seen to Barrowton, he had no real reason to remain with his brother’s party. After all, the king was close to leaving the Wall behind, riding south with all haste.

But he couldn’t bare to leave _her._ The golden haired girl who gave him shy smiles when she thought no one was looking. _What am I doing?_ There could be no happy ending to this. She was a lady, and he was a bastard.

“Something troubles you.” Jon laughed dryly.

“Aye. I have a lot on my mind. Nothing you would know about, my lord.” Howland slid a chair from underneath the table and sat, deep green eyes staring intently.

“Try me.”

“What would you know about being a bastard, and being half in love with a highborn lady?” He remembered how the Northern light shined on her golden curls. Ever since their walk in the gardens of Barrowton he’d left wanting her more than before. Howland didn’t back down.

“I am no bastard I confess . . . I am something much worse in the eyes of the lords. I am a crannogman, a faithless frogeater if the Freys can be believed. And as far as highborn ladies. . .” His face was suddenly awash with pain.

“Her name was Ashara Dayne. She was the sister to—”

“Ser Arthur Dayne. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Howland nodded.

“Aye, but back then he still served in Aerys’ seven. It was at the tourney of Harrenhal where I first saw her. In truth I had no business being there, for only the pride of the seven kingdoms were in attendance, but your mother insisted that as a Northman I take a place of honor at the raised dais with my lieges.”

Jon said nothing, allowing the man to continue his story.

“Your uncle Eddard had fancied her as well, as did every other man in the castle, including Brandon. If Ned was to shy to speak to her, then I was twice as afraid. Only when the feast was near to close did I dare request a dance.”

Howland smiled. “Some man dishonored her, who I cannot say. But when her bastard daughter miscarried she flung herself from the Palestone Tower in Starfall, to be washed away by the waves.”

“May the Gods give her rest.” Jon spoke softly after a long silence, Howland regarded him thoughtfully before nodding.

“They do.” _How do you know?_ He almost asked, then thought better of it.

“The magic is strong in the north, Lord Jon. But it is even stronger in the Neck, where plenty a’ children still roam.”

Howland stood and offered a hand “Would you like to see?”

His curiosity had an iron grip on him, so he nodded, following the crannog lord.

The moving castle waded on grey-black water primed with green. _Nature’s finest,_ Jon mused. The boggy marshes of the Neck had drowned many a knight in their attempts to conquerer the frog men and their moving castle.

_If an army rides up north, they don’t come back south._

Lord Howland took him out to one of the thatched towers that was connected to the main castle by a wooden bridge. Beneath the tower the was a ladder that was rope tied to a small boat.

“Just down this way,” Howland reassured.

Jon sniffed, cringing at the foul smell of the Neck. _Bile and grime replace sweet smelling perfumes._

He climbed down into the little boat and Howland oared it.

For a while they rowed through the Neck. The boat cutting through the light green phlegm that nestled on the water like a knife. Above him were long twisted tree branches that wrapped around each other like gnarled old fingers. They reminded him of Nan, the sweet old woman that told him scary stories as a child.

Half drowned trees emerged from the depths of the water, the bark becoming soft as dough and slimy. Jon took everything in. There was a queer beauty to this place.

“We are here.”

Jon looked up at the sight in front of him, and sighed in awe.

Above the green water were thick ropes of tree branches interwoven to make a ladder. Up and up it went, until it was shrouded by heavy green leaves.

“Climb it.” Reed said. He did.

He pushed his hand up swiping the tree leaves out of his way and behind them was a wooden door. Jon opened it.

Inside the small room was a lone candle light, burning fiercely. A young girl faced the candle, her eyes molten gold.

“My lady?” Howland laughed behind him.

“That is no lady Lord Snow. That is Earth.”

The person—if it could even be called that was of height with Rickon. Their hair was yellow straw, cut raggedly short. Long black claws replaced nails on their three fingered hands.

“My name is Earth.” The child squeaked. Jon swallowed.

“You’re a child of the forest.” Earth nodded.

“I am. And the only one of my kind in the Neck that speaks your tongue.”

“My Maester told me you were all dead. Slain by the First Men.” Jon blurted.

“You certainly tried hard enough. But we endure, and we survive.” The child picked up a wooden goblet and drank.

“The Andals returned your favor in kind anyhow.” Jon frowned. The Andals had slaughtered thousands of First Men to the brink of extinction, and enforced their Seven gods on them as well.

“This is the son of Lyanna Stark.” Howland cut in. Earth looked him up and down, large cat eyes roaming his body.

“Ah. I could tell, you have her face.” Earth then produced a black blade from underneath a shelf.

“Give me your palm.”

Jon gave a look to Howland who nodded. Slowly, he extended his hand to the child.

He winced at the cut that came after, but swallowed his pain fiercely. _By the Old Gods!_

Earth proceeded to suck the blood that came out, forcing Jon to suppress a squeal.

“Ahh yes. I see.” Earth stared at him intently.

“Close your eyes.” Jon did.

When he did he saw Arya. _No, her hair is too long, and she has dimples, Arya doesn’t have those._ Sansa did though, and used to tease her younger sister of it. The girl was swatting a wooden sword with a boy who looked like Bran.

_“Lyanna!”_ The boy cried out as the girl knocked him to the ground, and Jon felt the world stop. _I can’t do this, I can’t._

His eyes snapped open. Earth was still sucking at his palm.

“Beware the Spiders and the Vipers, Lord Snow. Beware the false friends and false family. Beware the knives in the dark.”

“I see. . .” Earth trailed off.

“A _dragon._ Black as night with flames red as blood. Oh oh oh. . .”

Earth smiled again.

“A maid with gold for hair and emeralds for eyes, yes I see. I see.”

“Myrcella? What about her?” But Earth’s eyes fluttered shut.

“She will sleep now.” Howland cut in, but Jon shook his head.

“I want to know what they saw.”

“You can’t force these things lad, come now.”

As they roared back to Greywater Watch, all Jon could think of was the maid with golden hair.

**MYRCELLA - DARRY**

“Gods save the King!” Willem shouted.

“Gods save the King!” Prince Aegon echoed.

Myrcella shouted with the rest, but in truth she didn’t feel like she was worthy of participating. _Someone plots against him, and there is nothing I can do to stop it._

A raven had arrived after the prince’s party third day at Darry. The King was riding south with all haste. _Will Jon be with him?_

After their walk at Barrowton they had been forced apart. Jon was a bastard, and had no purpose in the royal party after he escorted his young cousin home, her mother told her. Thus she had been pushed towards his brother in his absence.

Aegon was handsome and courteous to be sure, but he lacked the rugged northerness that Jon had, which was replaced by strutting Dornish swagger.

“Lady Myrcella,” Some lordling with a blue fish on his doublet muttered as he approached her.

“May I have the honor of this dance?” She gave a look to Prince Aegon, who was seated between her and Lady Margaery at his insistence. But the boy was in a serious argument with Loras Tyrell who was sitting in his sisters seat. Myrcella frowned.

She remembered how Tyrell was beaten into the dirt by Sandor. _The boy was a fool to think he’d win, only the best serve the Lannisters._ The Tyrell’s had overreached themselves, and plotted to have their sister wed the prince. A position that was rightfully hers.

Her mother had been denied Rhaegar, and cruelly rejected by the Mad King. The same would not happen to her. _I will have my crown._

Loras Tyrell had fallen out of favor with the Prince for costing him coin, and her brother slithered right in, to their mother’s pleasure. Unfortunately her idiot brother somehow fucked it up by retelling some stupid joke about Dornishmen that he learned from his warding at Horn Hill. He was then removed from the Prince’s companions.

_May the Seven bless Lady Shireen, she’s going to need it._

“I’m quite parched my lord. If you’ll excuse me.”

She took her leave, gathering her crimson skirts heading down the same corridors that took her to the vaults last time. _The traitors might be here again,_ she thought of Jon, black haired and fierce. _I must protect him._

He wouldn’t be safe as long as the plotters were unscathed. _Neither will Aegon._ If mother was right, and the bets option was to hedge their bets, then if Jon died Aegon’s crown would be in forfeit. No man is accursed as the kinslayer.

The vaults were black and stuffy, no candle was alight. Myrcella waited, holding her breath slightly.

A whisper came from the darkness,

“The King didn’t go beyond the Wall like expected. Apparently Mormont convinced him it was not necessary.” Another man spat on the ground.

“Damn him! He must die. Do it, I don’t care how just kill that man and his bastard.”

“Lower your voice or the castle will hear you,” the first man hissed.

“It’s not like to matter. Aegon is weak and pliable, and once he is on the throne and I will have everything that was stolen from me.”

Myrcella backed away, trying her best to keep quiet. But the room was dark and she couldn’t see where she was going. She bumped into an old flagon that was laying aimlessly on a barrel of strongwine.

_Seven hells!_

“Who goes there!” The second man shrieked. The soft _hiss_ of a sword leaving its scabbard came next. Myrcella cursed herself.

“Come out, we won’t hurt you.”

Myrcella heard the footsteps getting smaller and smaller.

She turned and walked faster than before, making an effort to keep the noise low.

“Who goes there!”

Something blocked her. A hand or a rope, she couldn’t say. But soon two palms grasped her waist and pulled her close. The second man came rushing from behind her with a lamplight in hand.

“Lord Edmure.” She whimpered.

“A lady has no business being here. Especially without an escort.” His eyes were deep pools of blue, with the gold flame of the lamplight shimmering in the darkness.

“I was only. . .” He silenced her with a hand.

“It would be most improper I think. I’m sure Prince Aegon would not approve of his prospective bride being seen alone in the company of not one but _two_ grooms?” He gestured to the second man, who was Dornish by the look of him. Her faced burned red. _You bastard._

“Of course his grace the Prince of Dragonstone does not need to know of your wantoness, just as he doesn’t need to know about the other things done here.” Myrcella swallowed.

“Of course my lord.” She grit out.

“I shall escort you back to your table, my lady.”

Arm in arm, Myrcella allowed the man to escort her up the winding stairs of the vaults and back to the festivities. Aegon frowned at her arrival.

“Where were you? You did not have my leave to go.” Her voice caught in her throat.

“Many thanks Ser Edmure for returning my lady Connington to me.” The Prince inclined his head towards Tully and gave a smile.

“It is nothing your grace. She was walking along the battlements, staring at the stars.”

Myrcella looked at him, trying her best not to scream. _I’ll wipe that self satisfied smirk off your face, Tully._

Her mother would not stand for it. Hell, her father wouldn’t either. _I am a Lannister, and Tully thinks to threaten me?_ She took a seat and called for her goblet to be filled.

Myrcella sat back and took a sip, and envisioned Riverrun burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on Earth's words, or the revelation of *one* of the plotters? Speculate below!


	7. Chapter 7

**CATELYN - WINTERFELL**

  


_Lady Crone, please give me wisdom. Shine your light on me, guide me through the darkness._

“The Gods hear you well, lady mother.” A sweet voice whispered to her. _I pray too hard, the words leave my head and escape to my lips._

“That they do. But I am satisfied, let us return to the castle.” She smiled at her eldest daughter, and took her hand as they excited the small sept, Donnis and Desmond following them.

_The Gods hear me._

It was a nice comfort, hearing the words from her darling girl, but they still felt hollow.

_Jon is destined to be King of Westeros, yet he refuses the crown._

The boy had looked at her as if she’d grown a third head when she told him. Neither words nor deed could’ve convinced him. So upset he was the he left Winterfell in order to safely escort Arya back to Barrowton. _More like to get away from me._

But it was the will of the Seven. He had to be king, the Gods demanded it, and they chose her to seat him upon the Iron Throne. She could hear them even now, whispering.

“Your will shall be done,” she whispered.

_Jon will be king. He will restore order to the realm. He will free my brother._

When she rode forth to King’s Landing to to obedience before the king after the rebellion was lost, her brother was with her. He was a boy of nine when they left, fiery haired and bold and brave, as only a son of house Tully could be.

Their father and uncle were with them and gave them comfort before they treated the fearsome Dragon Prince. Even Lysa, who had never wished to be apart of their family as a girl chose to ride with them instead of her new husband.

She remembered Rhaegar Targaryen, silver haired and beautiful, donning the old crown of Aegon the Conqueror that was lost when the Young Dragon rode into Dorne with an army fifty-thousand strong at his back, blood-red cloak fastened at his shoulders.

_“My lords of Stark and Arryn had a grave injustice to them, so for that I will welcome back into the king’s peace with open arms.”_

_“But you, Lord Hoster Tully, Duke of Rivverrun, and Earl of Harrenhal, had no cause to rebel. Your very position is the example of the generosity of my family, and yet you piss on it for mere ambition. You are a traitor, and will die a traitors death.”_

Her breath cause in her throat, and fire began to well in her eyes. She tightened her jaw.

_Jon must be King of Westeros._

_It is the will of the Gods._

_It is._

Her mind went to Edmure again. _Give him a young pretty wife and strong sons,_ she begged the Gods. _Make him happy._

The man her darling brother had grew into was one that was bitter and nursing his grievances very well. Despite him being a man grown, he was not allowed to visit his home castle or marry without the king’s permission.

_“His Grace is fond of keeping me cooped up for his pleasure.”_ Her brother spat out hatefully.

_“His son is fond of me fortunately. House Tully will rise again under his rule.”_

Edmure had raised a toast to Prince Aegon, but Catelyn didn’t drink. _Jon will be king,_ she told herself. _Jon will restore us brother not Aegon. Jon will._

The Prince was the property of house Martell, even she could see that. And once he married Margaery of Highgarden, the roses would have their claws in him too. Only Jon would be the strong king Westeros needs.

_The wolf and the dragon, no beast could stop him._

“Gods save the King,” she muttered.

It was dusk when her husband had arrived. The sky was a mixture of blues, purples and oranges. The sun a fading half circle. Catelyn went out to greet them.

“Your Grace, lord husband.” She made sure her curtsey was deep and her head was fully bowed. _Let him not suspect me._

Ned had a stiff look on his face. Catelyn smiled.

“My lord?”

“Lady Stark,” Rhaegar cut in. There was no smile on his face nor warmth in his eyes.

“The King wishes for us to join him south, along with Jon.”

Catelyn felt as if she had been slapped. _He wants Jon south._ What other reason than to proclaim his worthiness and name him heir? She felt as if she could sing.

_The Seven smile on me!_

“We will be honored to serve your grace. I’ll have the stewards gather our things.” Ned gave her a strange look but she dismissed it, nothing will cease her happiness.

Catelyn made her way to Vayon Poole’s solar, where she commanded him to ready their things for the journey north. Robb will stay she decided, it was vital that he learn to be a lord while his father way away.

Bran was younger and had wanted to be a knight ever since he could hold a sword, Cat would make inquiries for him to squire for one of the knights of the Kingsguard; Ser Barristan perhaps.

Arya might prefer to stay in the company of Lady Barbrey at Barrowton, and she would not make her unhappy by forcing her to court. Sansa would be delighted.

_When Jon is crowned, perhaps he’ll take her to wife._

Tears were brimming in her eyes. From daughter of a traitor and a wife to another, born to a great house stripped of all pride and power, to mother of a Queen. She

could almost taste it, it was so sweet and so close. . .

_The Gods are truly just._ She thought piously.

**JON - MOAT CALIN**

The red dragon of house Targaryen fluttered proudly in the wind, but that wasn’t the one that filled him with joy. The grey direwolf on an ice white field did.

_“You are no Stark.”_ The ghost hissed.

Jon clenched his fist, cursing himself. _I am, I am a Stark._

His uncle was commanded to to come south with his family, in order to reintegrate himself with the realm in serve on the king’s small council, Lord Reed told him. _Why does he want uncle now? He never cared before._

Most like to shore up alliances for his precious Aegon. _Can’t have Lord Stark on the side of the bastard prince._ A nasty taste came to his mouth.

Jon was in the wet earth as the king’s party approached. Three ruined towards lay behind him, black and crumbling.

“Make way for the King!” A red haired man called from the head of the column.

“Make was for his Grace!” Another knight bellowed. A white great helm hid his face, but by the great sword on his back Jon knew it was none other than Ser Arthur Dayne, sword of the morning.

_Lady Ashara’s brother._ The woman Howland was in love with. Jon had a sudden earth to speak with him, but he didn’t know what he’d say.

The king came in riding on a white deserter, Lord Stark and his lady wife scarce behind him. Jon felt uncomfortable at the sight of his aunt.

_“You will be king of Westeros.”_

Jon wanted no part of her treason. His brother already hated him for no reason and he didn’t plan on giving him one. But there was darker part of him, one that he rarely allowed to reveal itself, that did. _If I am king, then I could have her._

A pale woman with golden hair appeared in his mind, and Jon smiled.

“Jon?”

Lady Stark was in front of him, blue eyes gleaming. _Seven hells._

His father and uncle was dismounting, and when the king walked up to him he took a knee along with Lord Reed.

“Your Grace, Moat Calin is yours.”

“Rise, son.” He resisted the urge to throttle his so-called-father, but knew better of it.

Jon did as he was bid, the king turned to give a small smile to Howland.

“Lord Reed. It has been many years.”

“That it has your grace.”

The king nodded his head.

“We ride south in an hour.”He commanded, and Jon and everyone else waited until the king left to resume their duties.

Jon absconded off to the training yard, so that Lady Catelyn couldn’t fill his head with anymore fantasies. _That’s all it is truly, fantasies. I will never be king, and I’ll never have her._

His mother’s ghostly voice hissed at him.

_“You are no Stark.”_

Holding the training sword tight, he let all his passion flow through him.

He saw Myrcella’s sweet face, Arya’s limp body and Lady Catelyn’s determined eyes. But most of all he heard his mothers voice.

_“You are no Stark.”_

_“You are no Stark.”_

_“You are no Stark.”_

**SANDOR - KING’S LANDING**

  


The Iron Throne was an ugly beast. But that didn’t stop men from slaughtering entire villages to get close to it. First the Blackfyre’s, then Robert Baratheon, it seems as though men were _begging_ to get sliced up on that ugly iron chair.

From the highest parapets in the Great Hall, the red and black dragon of the Targaryen Kings fellbehind the throne, its fringes barely scraping the marble floor below.

Jon stood over to the right of the throne, with Myrcella and her lady mother. Cersei’s husband was holding court from the iron throne, glittering golden hands dangling from his neck.

“He looks quite handsome. You’re lucky to call him yours, my lady.” Taena Merryweather was Cersei’s new favorite lickspittle. Originally from Myr, Lady Taena had met her husband Orton while he was discussing favorable trade agreements for the king.

_She’ s from the Reach._ Cersei despised Reachers, for the simple reason that the Tyrells ruled them. _And the Tyrells are her enemy, and the little ladies._ Thats makes them his enemy too, loathe as he was to admit it.

Cersei gave a wide smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Lord Orton is gallant as well lady Taena.” Sandor snorted, and Cersei gave him a murderous glare. Lord Orton was as foolish as he was ugly.

_House Merryweather is one of the most prominent families in the Reach, and became richer still when Rhaegar defeated Robert on the Trident._

Sandor couldn’t understand why Cersei would deal with them, but that wasn’t his concern anyway. His job was to make sure she didn’t get killed, not delve into their political maneuverings.

Lady Taena smiled at that but Cersei continued. “Such a handsome boy you have too. Russel it is, yes? Tommen is in need of young men about him, you should bring him to court.” At this Lady Taena’s smile faltered.

“I would be most honored. . . but Russel is too young for such travels.” Cersei waved it off.

“No matter. Joff insists on returning to Horn Hill one last time, Tommen will meet your boy on the way there. It’s time he saw something past the Red Keep.”

“Me and my husband will be glad to host Lord Tommen, my lady.” Cersei nodded and Lady Taena made herself scarce, practically skipping over to her husband where she delivered the news.

A page boy entered from appeared from behind a white marble pillar, walking with all haste to Connington. The boy knelt as he spoke.

“My Lord Hand, I carry a message from Ser Edmure Tully.”

The room went silent, and Sandor swore he could hear Jon’s palms gripping the steel barbs of the throne beneath him.

The enmity between the Tully’s of Riverrun and Lord Jon Connington ran deep. Alongside the Queen, Jon adverted for the complete annihilation of house Tully, including the two daughters who were wed to lords Stark and Arryn.

The King ruled against him, but did take Lord Hoster Tully’s head, and parade it about a spear during the march back to King’s Landing. _Lets hope the fool does something rash._ He’d grown bored of sitting outside Cersei’s door, and as much as he liked Myrcella’s company, he would rather fight.

_Battle and blood, that is what warriors are made for._

Lord Jon gave a stiff nod and held out his hand as the boy passed the letter to a royal servant. He opened the letter and turned to stone.

He stood and walked away face turning scarlet.

“Come with me,” he barked towards his wife. Lady Cersei’s eyes were dark, but she did as her husband obeyed. _One of these days she’s going to ask me to kill him._ Sandor would greatly enjoy that.

They walked to a nearby private chamber walked in. Sandor stayed outside. The walls were thin however, and he could still hear what was being said.

“It seems as if Prince Aegon had taken a wound while hunting near Duskendale. Lord Edmure claims the wound and grave. His Grace is still traveling south with his Kingsguard and his grooms, leaving the rest of the party behind.”

“And the bastard?” Cersei whispered. Sandor stiffened. The little lady had been fond of the boy, he would not take pleasure in getting rid of him if commanded. _Not that my displeasure has ever stopped them._

“With the King. They should be at Aegon’s side within the week.” For a long while there was silence. Until the door suddenly flew open and Cersei deftly stepped out.

“Hound, find my daughter and bring her to me.”

Before he could respond she turned away, trailed by two other Lannister guards.


	8. Chapter 8

**JON - DUSEKENDALE**

“May the Seven guide Prince Aegon to the light of this earth. May the Mother tend to his body heal him whole, may the Crone give him protection, may the Warrior ward off the Stranger and his dark servants.”

“Amen,” he chorused along with the rest of the royal family. The southern gods were strange to him, but there were no weirwoods south of the Neck save the dead thing the Blackwoods prayed in front of, and Jon was desperate for his brother to wake.

_“You are no Stark.”_ The voice hissed hatefully.

_I am!_ He fought back, _I am a Stark, and I will not be king!_

He clenched his fists.

“Jon?”

He looked up to see King Rhaegar’s indigo eyes staring at him with concern. Jon hated it. He hated his pity, he hated his sudden fondness for him. He hated the way men flocked around him as if Aegon was already dead.

“Forgive me your Grace, I am just waiting to get the hands on the man who did this to my brother.”

“It was a hunting accident my son, no one is at fault.”

“Is that so?” A sultry voice added.

Queen Elia hadn’t aged a day since her crowning as queen all those years ago. Her amber skin was still flawless, without mark or lines, her bright hazel eyes sharp and aware. Her crown was soft gold mixed with bright red rubies to match her flaming silk gowns of red orange and yellow.

“Your Grace,” Jon said as he bowed his head. The Queen didn’t spar him a glance.

“It seems your bastard has more sense then you, my love. Aegon was no novice in the saddle, he wouldn’t have fell off his horse.” Rhaegar frowned at her tone.

“You think someone would dare harm my son? The Crown Prince?” At this the Queen gave him a look, and Jon nearly flinched at how cold and hateful it was.

“I can imagine who.”

At this the king lost his patience, “My lady, Jon was nowhere near Aegon when he took his fall—”

“I said nothing of Jon. But the fish his uncle wed has a brother who was very attentive to my son.” The King scowled and made to argue. _I can’t be here._

Jon cleared his that and begged the king’s royal his pardon, something the Queen was ecstatic to give. _I can’t stay here. I shouldn’t have come._

If the Queen suspected that he had something to do with Aegon’s accident. . .

He would never be safe. Nor would his uncle and his children. His mind went to Lady Catelyn.

_“You shall be King of Westeros.”_

No, he would no longer even think of it, lest the Gods punish him and cast him down for his sins. _I’m just a bastard._ A northern bastard, worshipper of the tree and river and forest., completely unlike his brother, who was the virtue of everything Targaryen.

He forced the thoughts of the maid with golden hair and emerald eyes out of hid mind. _It will never be. It never will._

The Dun Fort was a stout white castle with thick walls and high towers overlooking the crisp blue-green waters of the bay. But the ancient Darklyn kings who has served the dragons for so long were gone. Replaced by their stewards.

_Mad Aerys had them all cut down, to a man._

Jon made his way up to the balcony where stone arrow slits were carved by expert stonesmiths. He laid a palm upon them, contemplating.

_What happened to Aegon was a tragic accident, but on the off chance that it isn’t. . ._

Who would want his brother dead? He was a tourney champion and an accomplished knight, popular handsome. . .

His mind went to the Rebellion, and the pale ghost that haunted his dreams. _If some lord that had backed the wrong side wished to get revenge, killing the Prince of Dragonstone would be the perfect way to get it._

_Why did I have to be cursed to be the son of a king? Not even being a bastard could save me from their plots._

“Lord Jon,” he turned around to see a tall, muscular red haired man in front of him. He had clear blue eyes and high cheekbones, and a well trimmed beard that matched the color of his hair.

“Lord Edmure. I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.” Not that the man wanted to meet him. His family was destroyed after the rebellion, and his father was executed. _Could he be the one?_ Aegon was hunting with the man when he fell. . . _no, what happened to Aegon was a tragic accident._

“My sister says great things about you.” Jon felt his heart drop. _The woman has gone mad._ Time and time again she attempted to bring him into her treason, claiming it is his birthright as a Targaryen.

But he wasn’t a Targaryen.

_“You are no Stark.”_ The sound of the voice rankled him like a wound on the battlefield. Still he crushed it and put it in the back of his mind.

“Lady Catelyn is too kind.” He answered diplomatically.

“Don’t be modest Lord Jon. She tells me of your exploits last year, how you defeated a wildling horde at Castle Black. Many admire you in the North.” Jon’s throat began to close, and his heartbeat began to quicken.

“I only did my duty to the realm.”

Lord Edmure smiled, but it didn’t reach his clear blue eyes. “Duty, yes. Such a strange thing. The second word in my house’s words. Yet it cost us everything. We lost everything our ancestors gained to due our loyalty to our family, and good-family.”He stopped and looked at him closely.

“Let me give you a piece of advice, Lord Jon. Forget about _duty._ It is a poxy bitch is all. Many river lords followed my father in rebellion, as was their duty, and what happened to them?” He let the question hang in the air.

“I wish you good fortune Lord Jon. Something tells me you’ll need it.” And with that he wasgone.

**MYRCELLA - KING’S LANDING**

_Aegon crippled. The Martells plot against the Starks. And I keep winning._

Part of her felt guilty for being happy. Aegon would never walk again, if Pycelle could be believed. And Queen Elia was mad with grief.

_But Jon._

Jon was the king’s son. Bastard or no, and he had the full backing of the Warden of the North. With Aegon crippled and unlikely to produce children, who better to succeed him then the son who’s mother he started a war over?

She forced the thoughts out of her head. Aegon was still the Prince of Dragonstone, and if any Dornishman heard her speak ill of him she’d never be with Jon. _But soon we will be together. Soon, I will be in his arms._

“Myrcella.” She looked up to see the pouty face of her brother. Inside her head, she chastised herself for being to deep in her thoughts to notice Joffrey had made his move.

Her brother wasn’t the best at _cyvasse._ He was too arrogant and wasteful, as most young lordlings are, throwing his full might behind his calvary and leaving his king vulnerable.

She made quick of his army. Trashing his calvary, throwing down his archers and routing his knights. In one swift motion she brought down his king.

“Seven Hells!” Her brother shouted, green eyes filled with anger.

“You rush into battle too quickly brother, it’ll get you killed.” Joffrey frowned at her.

“What do you know about battle?”

“Nothing. I am a young girl after all, but I did just best you.” Joffrey half-snorted.

“Keep your game. I have a much bigger task ahead of me. One that will determine the future of our family.” He stood and went towards the window, staring in the the bustling city that sprawled beneath the Red Keep.

“Without Stannis’ support we won’t be able to hold the Stormlands. Renly has beento close to the Tyrell’s, I believe he means to use Prince Aegon’s and Margaery’s engagement to win it back.”

“That cannot happen.” She insisted. The Stormland’s were her brothers by rights, her mother fought hard for it, it would not go to waste.

“I agree. Renly may have the Tyrell gold, but he does not have the respect of the lords. With Stannis by my side and his daughter as my bride, no man will rebel against my rule.” He turned from the window and walked towards her.

“I need to go to Stannis _now,_ while Renly and the Tyrells are distracted. With Prince Aegon hurt, the betrothal between him and Margaery is more important than ever, I have no doubt that Renly is plotting at this very moment.”

“You will go to Storm’s End?” She asked. Though their father was a storm lander by birth and blood, he had squired alongside the king since he was a child, and rarely visited his lands since he came into his lordship, even less so after he was named Hand.

Joff was even worse, born and raised in King’s Landing, he was sent to foster at Horn Hill and was more reacher than storm lander, and their mother always raised them up as Lannister westermen, despite their name.

_They won’t take kindly to their future lord not being of them._

“I must. The legacy of our family is at stake. I won’t give up my holdings to bloody Renly.” His green eyes shined.

“I know you worry for me sister, but I will succeed in this, I promise you.” She nodded her head.

“If you go, I insist you take Sandor.” Her brother frowned.

“He’s your sworn sword.”

“I have others. There is no one else I trust to protect you.” Joffrey huffed at her words, but nodded nonetheless.

“If you insist sister, I’ll take Clegane on.”

She smiled and gestured to the seat in front of her.

“Another game?”

**SANDOR - FELWOOD**

The kings road was high and dry as the party slowly snaked their way south. It was early in the day, the sky still had left over purples and pink from the night sky. _I miss the capital._ Despite the constant aroma of shit and other rank smells, he had been there for years, and know it like the back of his hand.

_But the little lady wants me to protect her scoundrel brother, so protect I shall._

The seat of house Fell was in the southern edge of the Kingswood, and surrounded by dense forests in their own right. Redwoods, hardwood, oak and iron wood, they were all thick and covered with deep green leaves that reached the heavens with their touch.

Lord Harwood rode out to greet them as they neared his castle on a great black stallion. Harwood was a burly man with greying black hair and a wild thick beard beneath it.

He wore a a greysteel breastplate and iron half helm, both without ornament. At his side was a longsword with a brown leather handle _He looks as if he’s off to battle already._

“Lord Fell,” Joffrey said as he moved his horse forward.

“Lord Joffrey, forgive me but I wasn’t made aware that you were visiting us.” The boy smiled.

“Forgive me my lord, but this was a rather spur of the moment visit. I have yet to see my father’s lands, though he speaks often of them.” Sandor resisted the urge to snort. _The man rarely talks about anything other than the king._

Harwood nodded, “If you would follow me, my lord.”

Sandor stirred his horse and began to follow Joffrey, staying close behind. The wind begun to blow softly, making the brown hair that he carefully combed over the ruined side of his face fly sideways. He grit his teeth.

“Your lands are beautiful my lord,” He heard Joffrey praise. Harwood then enthralled the boy with tales of his families history and how they came to rule the Felwood, the boy said nothing, listening with great intent.

“Is there a tourney to be held? I noticed you wear such fine armor.” The man looked confused.

“The Stormlands has no lack of brigands, my lord. We write to your lord father for help, but he deems it our job to get rid of them.” He paused.

“The Stormlands has always been a martial kingdom,” a man-at-arms cut in, his voice slightly mocking.

“Surely his lordship knows?” Joffrey slightly flushed.

“Of course, I know.” He bit back, before turning away.

By the time they reached the castle it was midday, and the servants who took their horses directed them to the great hall where a meal had been prepared.

Lord Fell brought out stewed venison and roast boar, capons stuffed with onions and mushrooms, duck and goose, trout and salmon. Sandor only had a one cup of Arbor gold, but Joffrey drank his fill of mead, beer, apple, pear, and cherry wines.

He traded stories of his feats in squires melees in Horn Hill with the Lord Harwood, and in turn the lord told him of his own feats during the Greyjoy rebellion.

“Mi sire was called Silveraxe for his weapon,” he slurred.

“Never was a man braver.” Joffrey smiled then raised his cup.

“Brave men you have my lord! To Fell!”

The rest of the hall raised their cups and echoed the cry, Sandor just watched.

Harwood continued, “Mi grandsire too, he was a warrior as well. Carried a great sword bigger than me! He was cut down by Robert Baratheon at Summerhall.” Joffrey’s face stiffened at the man’s name.

“I’ve heard stories about Lord Robert’s prowess,” he said. Harwood nodded.

“Only your foster father Randyll Tarly defeated him in the field. Until the Trident, that is. My father died beneath Robert’s banner.” His voice turned sad. Joffrey raised his cup and stood.

“To Silveraxe!” He roared. Harwood looked shocked for a second, before lifting his own cup.

“To my father Silveraxe!”

The rest of the hall repeated them, so loud that the table began to shake and Sandor’s teeth started clattering.

“TO SILVERAXE!”

At the feasts end, he escorted Joffrey to his chamber before leaving for his own. The would leave for Griffin’s Roost in two days time, and Harwood Fell would be accompanying them.


	9. Chapter 9

**JON - KING’S LANDING**

_The Red Keep is beautiful. No wonder Mad Aerys rarely left this place_

Aegon’s High Hill came into view before they entered the city. The pale red towers of the capital reflected harshly in the high sunlight. Jon found himself adding the castle more and more.

_The home of the Targaryen kings._

His horse neighed as they neared the Iron Gate. The Rosby Road was thick with mud and had splattered all over the queen’s wheelhouse, to her vocal displeasure. Jon shifted in his saddle, taking in the city that sprawled out before him.

Another black stallion rode up beside him, Jon stiffened.

“Brother,” Aegon’s voice was soft, but commanding all the same.

“If you would let me past you, the saddle vexes me so often.” Jon nodded and turned his horse around, allowing the Prince past him.

_There was enough room for the both of us,_ he thought as the Prince’s party moved past. Ever since the accident, Aegon committed himself to proving that he wasn’t a cripple.

_The Maester assured us. . . he said Aegon would never walk again._

But the Maester was wrong. After his fifth day abed, Aegon rose with the sun, and walked. Septa Mordane proclaimed it a blessing from the Mother herself, something Queen Elia echoed.

Jon couldn’t speak for the gods of the southerners, but he knew that the Old Gods heard him well. _They know I do not wish for the throne, they know it is my brothers birthright, not mine._

And yet something nicked at him, slowly but surely, attempting to break down his resolve. _A death by a thousand cuts._

_I’m a bastard, I will never have her._

But the thought still plagued him, deadly as snake’s venom and nurturing as mother’s milk.

_I will never have her._

_I’m just a bastard_

A familiar faced saved him from his thoughts.

“Uncle,” he smiled. His uncle smiled back, and it was as if all his worries were washed away.

“I saw Prince Aegon speaking to you.” He started, before leaning in closer to him atop his horse.

“Did he speak harshly with you?” Jon shook his head.

“Not at all. He wanted space to move his horse.” His uncle nodded, taking in the words.

“That’s good. You two should be close, you are kin after all.” He added begrudgingly.

Jon nodded. Eddard Stark had taken the forced relocation with less grace than his wife, attempting to sway the king with excuses to remain in Winterfell, but the king refused every time.

Robb, Aryaand Rickon remained in the North while Bran and Sansa travelled south, Bran had aspirations for knighthood and was set to squire for one of the Kingsguard, and Sansa was desperate for an opportunity to live at the royal court.

_And I’m caught in the middle of it. A bastard no one truly wants. Neither Stark nor Targaryen._

The ghost of his mother haunted him even more these days, staring at him with lifeless grey eyes that accused him.

_“You hate your brother,”_

_“You want his throne,”_

_“You want him dead,”_

Lies! They were lies. All lies.

All lies.

**MYRCELLA - KING’S LANDING**

Myrcella stood at the foot of the Red Keep, her father and mother to her left, dressed in all their finery. Her mother bedecked herself in an extravagant gown of gold and crimson silk, with glittering red rubies woven into her golden hair.

Jon Connington wore a bright red doublet with a stark white griffin embroidered in silk on his right breast. His trousers were white and his leather boots were shined at such a level that she winced when the sun reflected off of them.

_They mean to show their glory before the king,_ she told herself. Myrcella decided on a beautiful gown of red velvet hemmed with golden silk. Like her mother, she wore red rubies in her hair.

_Jon will love me like this,_ she blushed at the thought. The last time they saw each other was at Barrowton. It felt like years had past between them.

The Prince was crippled, then cured by the Mother, rumors went. The Prince was dead, of a fever, others said. All agreed, that his natural son Jon Snow would be returning to the capital, with his uncle the Warden of the North at his side.

_A Stark in the capital._

_That didn’t work out to well the last time,_ she thought dryly. But King Rhaegar was not his father, and Jon was not his uncle Brandon. _He won’t be safe._

Not without her.

“The King!” Ser Arthur Dayne cried out as he softly trodding in front of the king, holding the red and black banner of the royal house in his right hand.

“All kneel for the King!” He cried out again.

All the court knelt before the king as he rode in, long silver hair flying behind him. Queen Elia and her chief steward, Ser Ullwyck came next.

To her shock Aegon came after. And not in a litter, but riding astride beside Ser Loras. Myrcella could hear the shocked gasps from behind her.

_Aegon can walk. . ._

She took a deep breath, forcing the troubling emotions that were bubbling inside of her down deep. _I cannot show my hand, not here._ This was King’s Landing, where the walls had eyes and ears.

Jon was next, with Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn by his side. Edmure Tully came after, with several riverlords and knights from the crownlands. Myrcella watched them all.

Jon dismounted with practiced ease and followed behind the king. His dark hair was combed back, allowing her to see his face. _He’s as handsome as ever._ His ice grey eyes looked straight ahead, determined and unfaltering.

“Rise.” The king commanded. Her father was the first one up, puffing his chest towards the king.

“Your Grace, welcome home.” The king smiled.

“Jon, I hope the city didn’t run amuck in my absence.” The court laughed at the king’s jape. Prince Aegon dismounted yet.

“And my son, Prince Aegon. Is alive and well and able, by the grace of the gods!” The High Septon echoed the kings words, and the court cheered as Prince Aegon dismounted and walked.

There was a slight lag in his leg but other than that, he looked fine. _Prince Aegon is fine._ Myrcella contemplated what this meant. _Mother will put all her attentions on ti him._

It was rumored that Mace Tyrell was scheming to have his daughter set her eyes on Jon if Aegon proved to be unable to walk. _No man wants to give his only daughter to a cripple._

But now that Aegon was healthy, I doubt he’d want to wed the girl who so readily was able to cast him aside for his brother.

_That leaves me._

“Your Grace,” she said cheerfully when the king and prince walked toward her. She shifted herself in a low curtsey. _I cannot show myself. Not here, not now._

“Lady Myrcella, you look radiant.” Aegon said silkily. His silver hair was shorter than his fathers, and his eyes were more violet than indigo, but he was just as tall as the king.

“Thank you, my prince.” He smiled again before moving on.

_So its true. He’s moved on from the Tyrell girl. I wonder how Loras will take that._

Jon came next after the Queen, he stood tall and strong, and met the cold stare of her father with surprising strength.

“Lady Myrcella.” His voice was soft, his eyes twinkled slightly.

“Lord Jon.” She replied smoothly.”

And like that it was over.

It was late in the night when her mother summoned her to her solar. Myrcella already knew what was going to happen.

“Clegane has written another letter. It seems your brother is getting on with the stormlords.” She sat in a cushioned seat a short distance away, her golden hair tied up in a simple braid.

“But there are more important matter to discuss. You know what Aegon’s condition means for you?” She nodded.

“It means you will pursue a match between us.” Mother nodded.

“I warned you to leave your feelings at the door. Now you understand why. I was only a girl when I was promised the crown but I never received it, the same won’t happen to you.” Myrcella took a deep breath.

“I will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” She said flatly. Mother nodded.

_But Aegon will not be my king._

**CATELYN - KING’S LANDING**

_The mother shines on me, the mother hears my prayers, she does._

Yet she couldn’t help the nagging sense of doubt that crept inside her. Jon was meant to be king of westeros, she knew, but why was Aegon alive? Why didn’t they strike him down and put the true king on the iron throne?

_The Seven Work in mysterious ways_

The Gods give their hardest battles to their toughest soldiers. _Jon will persevere, he will rise again, harder and stronger._

She knew it in her bones, she replayed it in her head everyday like a mantra but still the doubt gnawed at her and chafed her raw.

“Sister,” Edmure’s voice came softy Cat shook herself. _I’m going mad._

“Forgive me brother, I tire so easily these days.” Edmure smiled

“The journey was long and hard, sister.” He took a sip of wine from a silver goblet.

“Has the city been kind to you?” She asked, her brother shrugged.

“As king as anyone treats hostages. I long for the Riverlands.” _Jon will make you lord of all of them, I swear brother._

“We shall have them soon.” She said.

“Your bastard will not be king, we’ve talked about this sister.” Cat shook her head.

“Aegon—”

“Is alive and whole. If he died in the accident or was crippled, I would be more inclined to support, but I’m not risking more Tully blood for a lost cause. Jon will stay a bastard, nothing more.”

“He is the Seven’s chosen.” She said flatly.

“How many soldiers do the seven have in their army?”

“Thousands.” She urged.

“The Targaryen’s are not what they once were, and the Faith still rules the country. Many pious lords will flock to us, Hightower if we marry him to the Tyrell girl. The Brackens and Darrys as well.”

Her brother shook his head, “This is a fools errand Cat. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”

“I will get back what was stolen from us by any means necessary brother. I’m sorry you can’t say the same.”

With that she gathered her skirts and left the room, not realizing that her brother’s face turned into one of hatred.


	10. Chapter 10

** SANDOR - STO RMLANDS **

“We should be arriving soon my lord,” one of Joffrey’s knights said gruffly. Sandor sighed inside his great iron helm.

The boy lord had insisted on stopping by every manor, holdfast and castle on the way to his father’s seat, taking more freeriders, knights and servants into his company with every step.

They had picked much of the countryside dry with their daily hunts, but that was not half the problem.

With so many strangers lurking about, it made it all the harder to protect the boy. _Not that any seem to want to try their luck, the boy has grown close to his new people it seems._

Joffrey had taken well to the hunt and the many martial games the storm lords had to offer, and even offered to hunt down some brigands that prowled Lord Fell’s woods. The man declined respectfully after a short talk with Sandor.

As much as it would amuse him to see Joffrey try his luck with hardened men, Cersei would have his head if she find out Fell put her golden son in danger on his watch.

That wouldn’t be hard to do, because as he watched Joffrey, other men watched him. Men whose names and faces he did not know, but reported everything he said and did back to the Lady of Griffin’s Roost.

The woman had more influence the her husbands domain then her husband. The Swann’s and Tarths were some of the lords that Cersei held dear, but it was Stannis who commanded them all, even now. _The siege of Storm’s End is still in living memory, and the demon of the Trident is a martyr still._

“Thats good. I’m afraid that saddle is tiring me. I would like to hunt after we’ve settled in. You will join us, Sandor.” He resisted the urge to groan. The hunt did not excite him as it did his new lord. He preferred the melee and on the rare occasion, the joust.

_Whoever convinced man that hunting was joyous and fun? You flee into the woods for weeks on end and hope to catch a buck, and die of thirst before you get a rabbit._

“As you say.” Was all he said in response, Joffrey nodded, satisfied.

_The boy is taking more control then before._

That wasn’t shocking to Sandor. He was son to Cersei, grandson to Tywin, and foster son to Randyll Tarly. Meekness did not run in him, through blood or deed.

They travelled down the winding road slowly, as to not exhaust the horses. Joffrey, bored of the slow pace bet that his steed could out race Ser Hebert Boiling’s. Soon the whole party was galloping through the thick brown trees and heavy green leaves, swatting them out their way.

“I’ve been in the saddle since birth! You lads won’t best me!” Joffrey called out from ahead. _Slow down, boy._ A part of him wanted to scream, Aegon was the Prince of Dragonstone and had been riding Dornish steeds since he was half a man and was still thrown from his saddle.

Joffrey had better luck then his prince. Soon a clearing was found and a great castle came into view. Sandor opened his helm to get a better view.

“Griffin’s Roost,” Joffrey said through labored breaths.

“My father’s castle.”

There was a small garrison outside, all horsed and waiting for their lord. But behind them was someone he didn’t recognize.

“That must be the Lady Shireen, Lord Stannis’ daughter.” Lord Fell said, shocked.

Joffrey looked puzzled before putting on the charming face of a lordling.

“Well, it wouldn’t be proper to leave a lady waiting now would it?”

** MYRCELLA - KING’S LANDING **

Prince Aegon held court in a small chamber close to his private quarters rather than the great hall that the king occupied. _Because he cannot climb the iron throne_ , Myrcella thought.

Loras Tyrell was still a fixture at the prince’s side, but her cousin Lancel took his place more and more as the days went on, to the Flower Knights’ anguish. The Prince himself sat at a great wooden throne carved into shapes of dragons.

_It should be Jon._ The bastard son of King Rhaegar was fixture in his own right with his Stark uncles by his side. Ser Benjen wasted no time forming a party for the young man, gathering ambitious knights and lord to flock to him day and night, but it would be no match for the power of Sunspear.

_But with the Starks, Tully’s and stormlords, we may have a shot._ But that depended on whether her brother won over Stannis Baratheon and secured a match with his daughter.

_I should’ve met with the Baratheon girl, the match would’ve been secured then._ Her brother was cunning enough when he wanted to be, but his talent lay with battle and war, not the subtleties of politics.

“Your Grace will be pleased to know that my cousin Joffrey has met with the old rebel Stannis Baratheon. He will gladly send you his head if that’s what you wish.” Lancel said pompously. _Former rebel, and the power behind my brothers inheritance._

Joffrey wouldn’t dare do such a thing, but she could hardly say that out loud.

“My brother is loyal to the crown your grace, he will do his duty.” Prince Aegon regarded her coolly.

“Of course he will. We must all do our duty, Lady Myrcella. No matter how much is grates us.”

_He seems to be taking our proposed marriage the same as I. At least we’re in agreement on that._

Margaery Tyrell was the apple of the prince’s eye, and he was not keen on letting her go, despite her willing to abandon him when he was on deaths door.

It was no sweat of Myrcella’s back. If he wanted the Tyrell girl, fine. Mother wouldthen back her in pursuing Jon, and both of them would be dead by the end of it all anyhow.

_But not without my help._

“Of course my prince, I couldn’t agree more.” The Prince looked at her before snapping at his nobles.

“Leave me with the Lady Myrcella.” Lancel looked as if he were going to protest, but a sharp look from her silenced that entirely.

The surrounding people left their prince swiftly, giving her lingering glares as they left. When the final person closed the door to the chamber, Prince Aegon turned to her.

“I’m told your brother plans to match himself to Stannis’ daughter.” Myrcella nodded slowly.

“That is his hope, yes.” His purple eyes twinkled.

“Strange then, that a family as loyal as yours would associate yourself with a known traitor.”

“Stannis was forgiven in the eyes of gods and men. Your own royal father pardoned him fully—”

“He still rose up against his rightful king, conspired to but my grandfather in the ground.” Myrcella shrugged.

“If half of what they say about your grandfather is true, I would say Stannis was well within his rights.”

Aegon stared at her, before breaking out into laughter.

“None of my men would dare say such a thing in my presence. But you Lady Myrcella, you tell me how you see it. What am I to make of that?”

“That I am more trustworthy then the rest of your men.” She answered quickly. Aegon smiled and extended a hand, which she took.

“That may be so. I know you have feelings for my bastard brother, he does have a queer charm to him, but I am to be your betrothed, now that the Tyrell’s have forsaken me. If we are to be wed, we must trust each other, don’t you agree?”

Myrcella nodded, “Of course your grace. Whatever feelings I had for your brother are long gone. My duty calls me to be by your side, and that is what I’ll do.” Aegon smiled softly.

“That. . . pleases me. Since we’re being honest, I have something I must ask of you my lady.”

“If it is in my power, I will see it done your grace.” Prince Aegon nodded.

“Write to your brother and tell him to raise an army against my traitor brother.” Myrcella felt as if she had been slapped.

“Traitor?” She gaped.

“Aye. His own good-uncle came to me and confessed to his wicked plot. He means to depose me and name himself Prince of Dragonstone. You are close to him, and you will bring him to justice, so I will know you aren’t false.”

She stared at him, looking for any sign of falsehood, but she found nothing.

“Good-uncle. . . you mean to say Edmure Tully told you this?” Prince Aegon nodded, before she could ask another question Lancel bursted in again, his face red with fear.

“My prince I’m sorry to intrude but its the ironborn, they’ve attacked the western shore and their fleet is on its way here.”

_The game has added more players I see._

** ARYA - BARROWTON **

The leaves bristles softly as the northern wind brushed past, but Arya didn’t feel the cold. She was of the north, and winter was in her blood. She knelt in front of a old iron-wood tree, praying.

“We should get inside my lady,” one of Aunt Barbrey’s guards said, before she could respond Will came to her defense.

“Its fine Hal, Arya wishes to seek the guidance of the Gods.” She smiled at him knowingly. _The Gods have been speaking to me often as of late,_ yet she still didn’t know what they wanted from her.

Will tried to help, but he was as clueless as her. _When Jon comes back, I’ll ask him to find a woods witch, they always know what to do._

But Jon was a thousand miles away, and the dreams were here in the woods, haunting and exciting her every night.

_I don’t want them to stop, I just want to understand._

The Green Men were some of the remnants of the old green order that tended to the weir woods before the coming of the Andals, but war and disinterest had left their numbers few.

Most of them rested in the Isle of Faces, tending to the last remaining trees south of the Neck, preserving them and keeping them alive for such things were not needed in the north where the old gods remained supreme.

“William, how would you like to visit the riverlands?” Will laughed before realizing she was serious.

“Whats in the riverlands for us?”

“My mother is a Tully you know, it wouldn’t be strange for us to travel there. . . and the Isle of Faces is near Harrenhal, did you know my grandmother was a Whent?” Will’s eyes opened with realization.

“The isle. . . we may find some clarity for your dreams there! But mother may not let me, I’m the Lord of Barrowton and she—”

He stopped suddenly, and began listening to something she could hear. But then she did, _horses._ There were multiple, and they were at full gallop. Arya stood and turned around to face them.

The first was a tall, handsome lordling. He had short black hair and strangely pale eyes. Hal put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“My Lady Arya,” he said stoically as he dismounted. Will moved in front of her.

“We mean no harm, I am Roose Bolton’s natural son Ramsay. Your Lady Aunt sent me here, the iron born are attacking the western coast, my lady.”

_Ironborn attacking us? Why?_

Theon Greyjoy had been a hostage of the crown since his father’s last failed rebellion. They knew it meant certain death for their heir. . . why would they risk it?

William frowned.

“Why would my mother send you?” He hissed. Ramsay shrugged.

“Your aunt was married to my lord father, gave birth to my true born brother Domeric.” William nodded.

“We’ll ride back to Barrowton then. If the iron born are attacking, they’ll try to sail up the Saltspear.” Arya was only half listening however, she couldn’t take her eyes off Ramsay.

Something about him nagged at her, like she knew him from somewhere. _I would remember meeting a Bolton’s bastard._

“Well we should get riding.”

Will helped Arya get horsed and stayed close as they rode back to the castle. Arya kept thinking about her dreams the whole ride there.


	11. Chapter 11

**MYRCELLA - KING’S LANDING**

“Those filthy fucking squids! They _dare_ go against the dragon! I want them dead, every last one!”

The royal family had taken the news of Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion with less grace then she had hoped, but that wasn’t surprising considering who their father and grandfather was. Viserys had taken a special offense to the matter, as one of his holdings in the riverlands was sacked by the Greyjoy’s.

“They will die slow uncle, of that I can assure you. Theon will be first.” Rhaenys said sharply. Aegon straightened up.

“Theon is loyal and true—”

“As true as a viper. His uncles have attacked my home and his sister raids the coast even now.”

Jon was silent during most of the discussions on what to do with the iron men, but his brothers defense of Theon had brought him out of his shell. Aegon glared at him.

“I don’t think your opinion is needed here, Snow.” Jon stirred, but Rhaenys snapped first.

“You’ve gotten too close to that Greyjoy. Defending him as his uncle and sister raid our lands and butcher our people. _Our people!_ ”

“How could Theon know that his family would betray us? He hasn’t left the capital in months!” He turned to the king and gave a begging look, “Father, please see reason.”

“Your Grace, we must send a message. Treason must be paid with blood.” His grey eyes were hard with anger, the king said nothing. The Prince of Dragonstone hooted.

“Funny that you speak of treason, Snow.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jon said harshly. Myrcella stiffened. Before things could escalate Rhaegar cleared his throat.

“I will not punish a boy for simply sharing blood with false men, but if I find out that Theon had anything to do with this, he will die.”

Jon frowned but nodded nonetheless. _Strange that they let me inside to witness this,_ the royal family under Rhaegar had been notoriously isolationist, especially towards Lannisters, but with her unofficial betrothal to Aegon underway she was nearly family anyhow.

She managed to take Aegon’s eye off of Jon after Edmure’s blunder, but now it seemed as if he had it out for him again. _Perhaps the Greyjoy attack is a blessing in disguise, no one will miss Edmure if he were to bravely fall in battle._

With him out of the picture, there will be no one to lead the riverlands in support of Jon. . .

_We’ll deal with that later. He’s a threat and needs to be dealt with._

“I have commanded Lord Tywin and Lord Mace to call their banners. This rebellion will be crushed down ruthlessly.” The King said swiftly. He then looked to her.

“My Lady Myrcella forgive me, but I need to speak to my children alone.” She nodded and left quickly, making her way for her mother’s chambers.

**JON - KING’S LANDING**

“You _what?_ ” Aegon said incredulously.

“Father is this wise? We already are in bed enough with the Starks. . .” Rhaenys said, darting her eyes towards him.

_Aegon. . . wed to Arya._ He couldn’t believe it, it sounded like a cruel joke.

“With this rebellion we need to bring the North back into the fold.” Aegon pointed a finger at him.

“ _He_ is the north! I thought you would be satisfied with that.”

“Jon is a bastard.”

It was only four words, yet it had the weight of the world behind them. _Bastard._ It had been apart of his identity for as long as he could remember, and yet. . .

_You rejected him at first, you can’t be upset now._

_After he spent my entire life ignoring my existence!_

He stiffened, and diverted his eyes, refusing to meet his father’s.

_My father._ He had always been the king, his sovereign, but never his father. _He does not see me as his son._

And now he wished to wed his heir to his cousin. Arya would never consent to the match, but he doubted the king cared.

“Why wait until now to say this?” He heard himself ask.

“Your uncle insisted that the girl be given time before she left for court. Then Aegon was hurt and now–”

“My uncle knew of this?” The King nodded. Jon felt his stomach drop. _Why wouldn’t he tell me?_

“Why not Sansa? She’s already here and is more accustomed to being Queen.” The king frowned.

“I have made my decision. Aegon will wed Lady Arya and that is final.” His brother didn’t like that one bit.

“But we’ve already started negotiations with Lady Cersei!” He cried out angrily.

“Just because you’re stuck on your long dead mistress does _not_ mean you get to affect my future reign! I won’t marry some Stark girl because you don’t know how to let your bastard’s mother go!”

Rhaegar listened to Aegon’s plea in stony silence. Aegon was red as a chill pepper and breathing heavily by the end of it all. Rhaenys had put a loving hand on his shoulder to calm him down, while giving Jon an angry look as if it was his fault.

“You will. Or I’ll find another heir who will.”

The words hung in the air. Jon let his mouth hang open in shock.

“You can’t—” Rhaegar rang a tiny bell on his desk that was used to call servants.

“Ser Barristan! Escort my son to his chambers, he is not well.”

The old knight entered the room through the oak door, but Aegon shook his head.

“No need _your grace._ I know my way.”

He contemplated what happened for the rest of the day and came to the conclusion that the king was mad. First he makes a secret betrothal to a younger daughter of the most isolated kingdom, alienates the richest man in the world by spurning his granddaughter, insults his hand and closest friend, and made an enemy of his heir, all in the span of one stroke.

It was a catastrophe. The southern lords would not take well to a Stark queen, especially one that worshipped the Old Gods.

_My uncle. . . why would my uncle lie to me? Why?_

Despite his reservations, a primal part of his mind went to the golden maid with emerald eyes. He swore her off, and refused to think of her even when they were in the same room, but now he couldn’t get his mind off of her.

_Aegon won’t have her._

That was some solace, for even if he couldn’t make her his, he didn’t want her to be Aegon’s either.

_If only we could be wed._

But that was impossible, for Myrcella was a noble lady, and Jon was just a bastard.

**SANDOR - STORMLANDS**

“Ironborn invading the Seven Kingdoms. Again.” The daughter of Stannis Baratheon was formidable as her father with her long jet black hair and piercing blue eyes.

She held the scroll that bore the message tightly in her hands. _The ironborn are never docile for long, we’ve been over do a rebellion for a decade._

“Ironborn are bred for savagery. My father should’ve put them down when he had the chance,” Joffrey said angrily.

Shireen’s bright blue eyes looked up curiously at Joffrey, “I had no clue Lord Jon was such a warrior.” Joffrey nodded.

“Ten years ago the Greyjoy’s rebelled. My father led the royal navy and smashed the iron fleet. Thats why Theon resides in the capital. He was taken hostage.”

All the realm knew about Lord Connington’s harsh sense of justice. _Ever noble boy under twenty was taken by the crown, taxed trippled, thousands were executed after battle without trial._

“The Scourging of the Ironborn, men called it.” Shireen laughed dryly.

“Seems they're in need of another scourging. I assume Lord Jon will be taking my father’s men into battle against these savages?” Joffrey’s smile tightened slightly.

“I’m sure Lord Stannis will be pleased to fight for his liege.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Of course... he will have the command, naturally.”

“My lady—”

“Your father hasn’t been here in years, my lord. And the men of the stormlands follow my father well. Surely the Hand sees the benefit?” Joffrey paused, before nodding.

“Your father held storm’s end when others would have faltered. There is no man my father would rather have leading his armies.” The girl smiled.

“Good. Because they’re marching north, and you’ll be meeting him soon.” The girl then made her eyes towards him.

“Does your knight talk?” Joffrey grinned. _Little shit._

“Not without my permission.” If he was expecting her to be impressed, she didn’t show it.

“hmph. Davos will like him, I think.”


End file.
